


The Priwen Chronicles

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Captiv(ation) Series [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherhood, Comrades in Arms, Dark Comedy, Dick Jokes, Everything is For Science, Fanart, Fluff and Humor, Geoffrey is too sober for this shit, Kissing, M/M, Medical Conditions, Medical Procedures, O'Connor is Priwen's Tired Dad, One Shot Collection, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, Someone is getting sewer patrol by the end of this i swear, Stabbing Leeches for Science, Teasing, Trauma, Vincent is a little shit, War, epidemic, for science, parental figures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 47,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: This is part 2 to the fanfic Captiv(ation). A view point from Priwen's side of what transpired between Geoffrey McCullum and their troublesome leech, Dr. Jonathan Reid.Hilarity, angst, and many drunken antics ensue.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Guard of Priwen, Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Captiv(ation) Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712761
Comments: 89
Kudos: 169





	1. Leech Bait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Part 2!
> 
> This scene is between the events of Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 of Captiv(ation).
> 
> If you haven't read those chapters yet, this will be a spoiler of sorts.

"Feed the leech." Vincent grumbled to himself, a mockery of McCullum's words ringing out as he stood outside in the courtyard of their outpost. The sun was shining in a rare moment of clarity through the thick and dreary clouds that had blanketed the autumn sky. The cold nip of the morning fog had faded with the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he stood in a plain pair of earthen trousers and a white long sleeve. It was one of the rare few shirts he owned that wasn't stained with blood. A small victory as far as he was concerned.

"How does he expect me to feed the leech when the leech won't eat?" He blurted, kicking a stone with the toe of his boot and ignoring the look O'Connor shot him when it skittered into his thigh. 

The very large Priwen officer was knelt beside his garden box harvesting plants and pulling weeds as he prepared for the winter. A pair of old work gloves protected his bear paw like hands from the rough textures of the rose bushes left behind by the previous occupants. The flowers were long gone but the prickly stems remained.

Vincent cringed, realizing it wasn't smart to poke the proverbial and sometimes literal bear. O'Connor was Priwen's _Gentle Giant_ but he was every bit what he appeared to be. Vincent had watched first hand as the large Irishman went toe to toe with a Vulkod with his bare fists _after_ taking a torch to the face by a frantic and clumsy cadet. Half blinded by pain, he still managed to take the leech down and get the whole patrol back to base without any further injuries. 

It had been five months since then and the burns looked good. They healed well with time and the proper attention applied to them. That was something most of the men lacked a skill in and that was the painful truth. They'd be a hell of a lot worse off were it not for O'Connor. He shouldered the other half of the burden that McCullum carried and ensured that the Priwen ship ran smoothly behind the scenes.

Even if that meant Vincent was stuck doing dishes with Vukasin this week on the rotation.

He grumbled quietly to himself and plotted out his course of action. The leech needed to eat and O'Connor would have his head if he tried to ply the beast with anything rat related. They lacked a barnyard of readily available livestock unless Vuka was hiding a goat somewhere in his bunk.

The metaphorical light bulb went off above his head as the hunter rushed back inside with a plan working itself over.

Sure, it looked like something out of the Sunday press with its comical exaggerated actions and over embellished ideals meant for light hearted fun at political problems. But Vincent was a very serious man when he set his mind to a task. Even if that task involved a very large fishing net and a whole bunch of bread crumbs.

Vuka was perched in an old wooden chair beneath the balcony, draped in the shade of the building as he observed Vincent over his newspaper. The Serbian hunter raised an incredulous brow but didn't comment on the ridiculous endeavor as Vinny started to carry out his task.

It was childish and barren in the fruits of his labors as nearly an hour went by and the guard plopped down against the Leech Burning tree and fretted over his losses. His arms ached and he had long since run out of bread crumbs to bait the fickle doves into his trap. The net had gotten tangled on debris and eventually one of the lines frayed and gave out, securing his final surrender.

"I give up. This is fucking stupid. I have no idea how the hell I'm going to feed the leech and McCullum's gonna have my arse if I don't get it done." He lamented his distress into the dirt at his feet. Sweat speckled his brow as he sank against the tree and felt the red burn of heat against his cheeks. He could smell the blood that started to drip from his nose, the final stake to his foul mood as he dug into his pocket for a spare handkerchief but found them empty.

His frustration was thwarted by the quiet offer of a dark blue handkerchief from dirt stained hands. Vincent didn't even notice O'Connor's approach but he was thankful nonetheless.

"Vukasin." O'Connor called and gestured for the Serbian to tend to their comrade. Vuka obliged with a silent nod and cursed under his breath when he pulled Vincent to his feet and gave him a teasing shove to the back to hustle him indoors where it was cooler.

"I'm not finished yet." Vincent protested but he was far too tired to refuse as Vuka commanded him to sit. He spared him a look that silently ordered the sniper to shut up while he procured a glass of water for him to sip at.

Vincent planted his face against the countertop, the handkerchief was squished between his nose and the cool wood surface. His hand grasped the glass as he tapped his fingers against it gently. His green eyes gazing into the translucent liquid and staring through it at Vuka as the water warped his image and distorted it into odd shapes that bordered on comical. A small twitch of his lips twisted in mild amusement as he waited for his nose to stop bleeding.

"Vhat?" Vuka asked, catching the way the other was staring at him.

"Nothin." Vuka narrowed his eyes into a suspicious squint but Vincent closed his own as he sighed. The Serbian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the counter as he watched his friend closely.

"You're being too hard on yourself." Vuka interjected but Vincent only grunted in response. The silence dragged for several heart beats before he finally conceded into conversation. The ball of anger that welled up inside him had grown prickly and painful beneath the surface as day after day his efforts were undone by this fucking affliction.

"I fought through a war, Vuka. I took a bullet to the back. I killed hundreds of men at the end of my scope _including_ other German snipers. I bled for this war, I nearly died for it. And then I come back here and…" He sat up to face the Serbian, grabbing the handkerchief was a secondary concern until his nose started to drip again. He was quick to remedy it. "And I can't even catch a few fucking doves to feed the god damn leech in the basement."

He threw his free hand up in frustration. "I'm tired of being everyone's burden. I'm tired of being treated like I'm fragile and I'll fall apart if anyone is too rough with me. I'm just as much a part of Priwen as everyone else and I'm useful for more than just _Leech Bait._ " He hissed through gritted teeth. His eyes hard and narrowed down at the counter as he cursed himself.

Vincent's voice lowered then. "I know I'm dying. I don't want to sit here and wait for it to come. I want to fight and choose how I die. I don't want this fucking disease to get the satisfaction of taking me."

Vincent watched as Vuka just quietly stepped away from the counter and dug through the cabinet in the kitchen. The sniper tilted his head to get a better view of what exactly his friend was doing, before he realized it only made his head swim with dizziness. He straightened up and relaxed back into his chair with a defeated sigh and waited. Vuka returned with a bottle of whiskey that O'Connor kept tucked away for special meals when Priwen finds something to celebrate. He set two glasses down between them and lifted the bottle to pour into one.

He offered it again and raised a questioning brow towards Vincent. The sniper just shook his head and picked up his glass of water. "I'm good."

"Suit yourself." He shrugged and downed the drink quickly. He poured another glass for himself before speaking.

"I vas there vhen ve lost Belgrade." The somber tone that overcame the room lured Vincent to listen to Vuka's words. It was a rare opportunity when the Serbian decided to speak about his past. He was a quiet man, stern and reserved. He quickly earned a reputation among Priwen that wasn't necessarily good and many avoided him. Vincent saw him as a kindred spirit despite not knowing an ounce of his past but he could see it in his eyes. That look, that emptiness that followed many soldiers around that had survived hell.

Vuka downed another shot as he carried on, pausing to inspect the bottom of his glass as he let his words fill the silence. "Ve had our orders, to hold the city while our king led our people to safety through the mountains. And vhen it vas all but lost, ve vere to retreat as vell." 

He poured another and watched the golden contents slosh inside the glass. His gaze was cold, something far away and pained in his eyes. Like a storm was brewing, full of old memories that were far from pleasant. "Ve marched last, to cover the backs of our brothers and sisters and hold off the Huns."

"It took a veek to reach the safety of the Adriatic Sea. And in that veek, ve lost 200,000 men, vomen and children to cold, hunger and disease. I do not even know vhere my bako is buried or if she vas buried at all." He downed another shot and promptly repeated.

"And vhen ve finally thought ve vere safe, ve keep dying. From disease, malnutrition and exposure gained during the retreat." Vuka set the bottle aside after filling his glass one more time. He didn't touch it yet. His hands rested against the countertop, palms flattened against the stained and worn grain. It was full of nicks, chips and cracks from years of abuse. His thumb brushed over one particular gauge that came from a knife driven into the wood surface with purpose.

"All I vanted to do vas fight. And they vouldn't let me. I vas too veak, they told me. That my body vould give out. That all I could do now vas rest."

Aqua eyes met Vincent's as he stole the sniper's attention. He held it there in a moment of contemplative silence as he weighed his words. "Vincent, I understand. The helplessness and fury you feel. But I vill tell you something I learnt." Vuka picked up the untouched glass of whiskey and set it in front of his friend. His hand reached across the counter to grip the back of his neck and pull him in until their foreheads were pressed together. 

Vincent closed his eyes and felt the difference in the heat of their faces. The burn that bled into his skin, almost feverish compared to Vuka's cooler touch. He felt the rough texture of his fingers tracing the nape of his neck before giving it a firm squeeze.

"You do not need to leave your bed to shoot something in the eye if you are good enough shot. Now come and drink up, and I vill take you out to shoot some vampires. Killing things alvays made one feel better." Vincent opened his eyes and caught the once in a lifetime smile that graced the Serbian's features. It was a sight he never thought he'd witness but there it was and it made his heart all fluttery inside. Vincent refused to admit it had anything to do with Vuka and blamed it on the fact he was probably about to have a heart attack. At least he could die content.

The contact was brief as Vuka withdrew slowly and patted him on the shoulder. "O'Connor vill get the birds. Ve kill a few things then come back and peel potatoes for supper. Vin vin."

Vincent leaned back in his chair and nodded, conceding to the whims of his friend as he accepted the glass of whiskey and set the handkerchief aside. His puzzlement was made known by the furrow of his brow when Vuka took the soiled fabric from his possession.

"Leech bait." The Serbian answered simply as he wrapped the rag up in another cleaner cloth and tucked it into his pocket for later. "See. You are alvays useful." Vuka laughed when Vincent frowned then his eyes widened.

"You laughed!" Vincent was delayed in remembering the betting pool most of Priwen compiled as a joke to see who could make Vuka laugh. He didn't necessarily know if this _counted_ but he would be damned if he missed out. 

Vuka winked teasingly at the sniper as he turned to put the Whiskey bottle away before O'Connor returned. "No one vill ever believe you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next written chapter is Geoffrey's perspective in how he deals with Reid's presence in Priwen.


	2. Fanart by Kyuume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fanart piece by Kyuume depicting Jonathan during Chapter 3's experiments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful piece!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is Geoffrey's perspective in how he deals with Reid's presence in Priwen.


	3. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey deals with the consequences of his actions. This is based during the events of Chapters 6 and 7.

It wasn’t exactly common to find the Leader of Priwen nursing a bottle like an old drunk. Geoffrey hasn’t let himself fall so low since Carl’s death and even then, it was in the privacy of his office away from prying eyes. The men didn’t need to witness it and he was too ashamed to admit he was struggling to cope with the thoughts rolling around in his head. He rarely regarded conflict as anything more than the weak thinking of an uncertain man. Hesitation gets you killed. Second guessing costs lives. He didn’t have the luxury to sit back and ponder the way the fat politicians did.

He had an organization to run. He had a city to save.

Yet he still found himself strung out in his office with a half empty flask and the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat. The heat it stirred in his stomach at least warded off the chill of the night air that slipped into the drafty upper floor window. The building was falling apart, despite their best efforts of piecing it back together after the bombings. O’Connor and himself had spent most of the summer with a hammer and nails trying to patch the leaks in the roof and fix the holes in the walls. The patrols were lighter back then, the rotations focused on either hunting or tossing in an extra hand to get the building ready for the cold winter months.

The lads did an outstanding job with what little they had to work with after scavenging the wreckage of nearby buildings. Vinny and a few of the lads even helped dig a new irrigation system to keep the courtyard from flooding during the rainy season.

Back then the hard work was a welcome relief that distracted him from his recent losses. The men that died at the hands of leeches or, more common at the time, the bombings. An entire barracks was lost overnight. A supply house destroyed in a matter of minutes, what wasn’t blown to pieces was burned in the debris. The fires were out of control and the chaos of panic that followed offered prime opportunities for the craftier leeches to strike the unsuspecting.

McCullum managed through it all. As he always did when tragedy struck. Being the last man standing was beginning to feel like his eternal curse these days. But those losses didn’t drive him to drink like this. Those burdens he could bear. They still hurt, knowing these men lost their lives for his cause. That they died under his command. Despite the fact many of these situations were inevitable, it was hard to not feel some ounce of guilt for it.

No, the cause of his solitary date with a bottle tonight was the leech that was imprisoned in his basement. The one that currently refused to look at him or even acknowledge his presence. It was an odd thing to feel broken up about, he had to admit. He had never felt so conflicted before in his life. Not even when he faced down his own brother and ended his miserable existence.

He couldn’t exactly put his finger on the reason why. Or even what compelled him to feel sympathy for a beast. Maybe it was the fact that Reid didn’t act like a beast at all. Aside from the report detailing his awakening, driven mad with the thirst enough to take the life of his own sister, Reid showed genuine remorse. He shed tears at her memory and lamented what he’d done. He mourned her and promised he would avenge the death. That he would _fix_ this. Geoffrey doubted the doctor could, especially since he didn’t have any intention of letting him run free in the city.

There’s no cure for being a monster. If there was, then there would be a lot less leeches running amok. And Geoffrey would be out of a cause.

Jonathan remained cordial in the following days since his rebirth, he was concise and curious. He was open to Geoffrey’s experiments on him and didn’t appear discouraged even when they caused him pain. He was a sharp minded man that was passionate about discovering the truth behind everything, even before his death at the hands of his Maker. Geoffrey had done a considerable amount of reading on Reid. About his efforts before the war and even during. His accomplishments, his research, his passion for his work and his very human sense of compassion.

One of which still followed him into this new life and the curse that befell it. He was optimistic, down to earth and kind. He didn’t seem to care that Geoffrey and his men had kept him in chains. He adapted as all strong men do in questionable circumstances. He maintained a surprising amount of optimism.

Until Geoffrey destroyed it.

McKinley’s words struck deep that night in the courtyard. They were the blade that ripped open old scars and bared them to the world. It stung with a ferocity that Geoffrey couldn’t sooth, even as the night wore on and the days inched by. He was thrown back to the day he stood before his older brother and pulled the trigger, ending his life for good. The look of betrayal in Ian’s eyes still haunted him, as did the feral hunger that writhed within. The broken pleas that called out to Geoffrey, begging him for mercy.

Those words rattled around inside his head for days until he couldn’t stand it anymore. They seared into his thoughts just when he finally found peace away from the shadows that lurked within. He was tired of being reminded of it. The unfairness that followed. If Reid could remain so _human_ then what about Ian? Reid had refused Vincent’s blood even after having tasted the blood of another. He acted as if it were something as so simple as choice, as if instinct didn’t play a factor in it all. As if... _as if any leech could do it._

If it were something as simple as that, Geoffrey couldn’t help but wonder that if he had changed one thing, if he had acted differently that day, could he have saved his brother? Could Ian have learned to curb his instincts like Reid had?

As pitiful as it sounded, Geoffrey let these thoughts enrage him and he took it out on Reid. He subjected him to a horrid torture because he was furious at himself and the hand he was dealt. He carried that pain that haunted him for so many years and wanted to inflict it upon someone else. It was cruel, Geoffrey acknowledged that. He had no excuse for how he behaved. Reid had been cordial, compliant and friendly. He had obeyed when directed and was genuinely curious about the world around him. He was innocent in a way, still learning. Just a fledgeling of an ekon. A very powerful ekon, Geoffrey reminded. He was learning quickly and accomplishing feats that many well fed ekons could do while he himself was half starved.

Whoever his Sire was, he was a powerful ekon. Geoffrey had a sneaking suspicion that he was one of the few that managed to escape the previous Great Hunt. Which didn’t bode well for the second hunt he was organizing. He wondered which name on his list was so careless as to leave someone like Reid unattended in their transformation.

He stared down at the pile of reports on his desk and took another long pull of his flask, letting the whiskey burn through him. He tilted his head back and sighed, listening to the sound of footsteps on the old creaky boards of these bleak halls.

The place was a piece of shit and he still wasn’t drunk enough to quit caring about it. He emptied his flask and tucked it back into his pocket as he flattened his palms on his desk. He was still steady on his feet, good enough to warrant a little stroll down to the kitchen in search of O’Connor’s stash. He knew his Second in Command kept a hidden trove for special occasions and Geoffrey made it his mission to find it. He’ll replace it later, if he remembers.

He had just opened the door to his office when the aforementioned Irishman came to a halt before the entrance. He straightened up, glancing over Geoffrey with a critical eye. McCullum didn’t miss the slight crinkle of his nose when he caught a whiff of the whiskey. He glared at his Second as he barked. “What is it?”

“Reid is gone. He escaped somehow.” O’Connor reported. “No casualties or injuries.”

“Where was Babic?”

“On guard, sir. He said he heard movement in the cell but when he went to check, the chains were broken and the cell was empty. The door was still locked.” O’Connor stepped away from the doorway as Geoffrey stepped forward and started down the hallway, still listening to the status of the situation. “He came to find me and when I went to investigate the cell, the lock was destroyed and the door was open.”

“He’s a clever bastard.” Geoffrey admonished. “He’s probably long gone now. Double the patrols around the building just in case. Pull back the rest of the lads. I don’t want anybody straying too far out.”

“Yes sir.”


	4. Documentation: Corporal Vukasin Matija Babic and Private Vincent Francis Bonner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svart-Jade made the official military records for Vincent and Vukasin. 
> 
> (Vincent keeps misplacing his as shown by the upper left hand corner.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for Vukasin's document:
> 
> This is to declare that Vukasin Matija Babic  
> AS #1640849 Corporal, First Serbian Division  
> Is hereby honorably released from the Serbian Land Army due to  
> honest and faithful service to the Kingdom of Serbia.  
> Corporal Vukasin Matija Babic was born  
> in Kraljevo, in the District of Raska  
> When enlisted he was 23 10/12 years of age and by occupation a hunter.  
> He had Green eyes, Brown hair, Tanner complexion and  
> was 5 feet 10 inches in height.  
> Corporal Babic was released from his oaths on the 19th of May 1918


	5. Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey must deal with the corruption in his ranks.
> 
> This is after the events of chapter 12 when the Priwen Guards attack the dispensary.

Geoffrey wrinkled his nose in disgust as he read over the reports. He was aware that there was some ill proceedings going on behind his back, that some of the newest members were taking the law in their own hands. There were some things he could let slide, not out of moral obligation but because he simply didn't have the time or manpower to police all of the new recruits at any given moment. He was aware of the petty thefts, the bullying and intimidation of civilians and the lies spread through the ranks as young bloods fall prey to vulnerability and the wayward take advantage of their gullibility. 

But this was an entirely new low. Never before had Geoffrey been dealt with a situation like this. It was unheard of in Priwen history which rankled him to think it was under his command that it became a first. 

Five Priwen guards entered a medical dispensary and began executing civilians under the disguise of killing skals. The guards may have gotten away with it and the lies they spread involving the incident, were it not for the witnesses they carelessly left behind or, more prominently, the fact that Dr. Jonathan Reid had ended their lives at the end of a bullet. 

Geoffrey wasn't sure how he felt about that. Whether he should be glad that Reid stayed his claws from the flesh of his men or feel insulted by it. Was it a conscious decision on his part? Was he trying to hide the fact that he intervened? Or was he mocking Priwen in a way by saying he didn't need his ekon abilities to handle them? The latter didn't exactly sound like Reid, at least not the man Geoffrey had come to know in the few weeks he was locked up in the cells. But the ekon had found freedom and maybe he learned to harbor a hatred towards them. Geoffrey wouldn't blame him for it. It was only right after how he acted.

Everything about the doctor was a confusing conflicted mess of signals that only furthered the headache that nestled in Geoffrey's temples. From the deaths of the traitorous recruits to the fact Babic and Bonner spotted him putting up Vampire Propaganda posters for that fraud, Throgmorton. A few other recruits had even spotted him roaming the docks and Whitechapel, handing out medicine to the poor and sickly.

Every person that crossed his path ended up better for having done so as he treated them with kindness and compassion. No fangs or claws bared, no blood spilled aside from the medical perspective and no loss of life.

Reid continued to defy Geoffrey's expectations and that only further infuriated the hunter as he scowled at the reports steadily piling up on his desk. More and more involved Reid as the days passed by. 

Geoffrey set the papers back down and pinched the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. He rubbed his thumb against the corners of his eyes and brushed away the tiredness he felt weighing him down. The weather was beginning to turn and he could feel it in his bones each night he woke. That stiffness as the cold invaded every crack and crevice of this shithole of an outpost. The protests of limbs haunted by old injuries in older fights. He was still young for his station but given his duties, he was older for how long he's lasted.

The only other one currently that could make a claim of similar experience in the Priwen ranks would be O'Connor, give or take a couple years. Most of the old dogs that served with Carl died out shortly before and after the previous leader's death. Between the war, the epidemic and the vampire plague, they didn't last long.

Geoffrey gritted his teeth as a thought occurred in relation to his current predicament. He didn't have the manpower to deal with the corruption that was currently flooding his ranks and he couldn't afford to cut loose so many new recruits when the crisis was reaching its highest point. They needed bodies now more than ever before. He certainly couldn't ask O'Connor to take on the burden. The other officers at his disposal were scattered about the city at various outposts trying to stand their ground against the hordes of skals that surfaced at night along the deserted and quarantined portions of the cities, or that filled the cemetery looking for fast and easy meals.

They were beginning to be overrun at this rate, especially since Priwen couldn't properly train the new recruits that joined their ranks. They were learning on the spot within the first few days, thrown into the destruction and chaos that the city had fallen into and expected to keep their heads above water. It wasn't the best course of action, Geoffrey acknowledged that but it's all he had at the moment.

There weren't many men that he could trust to keep an eye on the others and ensure they didn't stray from Priwen's righteous path or the ideals it upheld. He refused to let the institution that Carl Eldritch and Kendall Stone built, crumble under his command. A change needed to happen and soon.

  
  
  
  


"Babic! Bonner! Get your arses in here!" Geoffrey barked as he stood in his office and waited for the two guards to approach. O'Connor had dragged them from their beds a few hours earlier than usual, forcing them to walk amongst the living before noon. Babic looked as grumpy as usual as he prowled through the door like an overgrown house cat. Bonner on the other hand, looked like he was on death's door. His hair was a mess and his clothes were in disarray as if he fell asleep in his uniform and never had the thought to change out of it this morning. Given the rumpled appearance, Geoffrey bet that's exactly what he did.

Vincent scrubbed his hands against his face and let out a yawn that he stifled halfway through as an afterthought. He barely opened his eyes as he stood before Geoffrey's desk at attention. Vuka remained casual but alert, dragging a critical eye around the room as if leeches lingered just out of view. O'Connor came around the side of McCullum's desk and stood beside their leader.

The Irishman rested a hand against the back of his chair, fingers curled into the old wood and worn faded leather that groaned in protest beneath the weight as he leaned against it. He examined both men closely. He had deliberated for many long hours on who he trusted most with this task. He even extended a thought towards O'Connor, a question of his own opinion on the situation. Both men came to the same conclusion.

"There is corruption in the Guard." Geoffrey announced firmly, eying both men as he spoke. Vincent appeared to shake whatever sleep addled his thoughts as he blinked and focused on their leader. "This is a problem that couldn't be avoided, I'm afraid but I aim to repair the damages these corrupt individuals have caused. I am delegating the task to the both of you."

"Us? What do you expect us to do about it, sir?" Vincent inquired, still trying to wrap his head around this news.

O'Connor shared a look with Geoffrey as their leader conceded the explanation to him. "Just keep an eye on the lower ranks. You're both far more active in the patrols and more aware of the fresh blood."

"Aye." Geoffrey gestured. "O'Connor and I don't have the freedom you two do for the time being."

"And if we see something shady, we intervene? Or would you rather we just report it?" Vincent wanted to know the specifics of what was expected of him. Geoffrey didn't mind the questions, appeared almost relieved by it.

"That would be your call given the circumstances of the situation, lads. This responsibility is now on your shoulders." Geoffrey admonished.

"Oh. Lovely." The sarcasm dripped from Vincent's voice, earning a small smile from both of his superiors. He may bitch and complain, but he was an exemplary soldier that they could depend on. "If anyone causes trouble, I'll just let Vuka eat them."

After a minute, Vincent's eyes widened as he gazed at the pair with a sudden hope sparking on his face. "Wait, this means I get to skip sewer patrols this week."

"Aye." Geoffrey assured.

"Fuck yeah!" Vincent celebrated with a little fist pump.

"What say you, Babic?" Geoffrey turned his steely eyes upon the quiet Serbian, expecting an answer. The man hadn't spoken or moved a muscle since he entered the office.

The smile Geoffrey received would have been the source of many a man's nightmares if it weren't for the fact the hunter was used to it at this point. It was a look more akin to a sewer beast that found a particularly stupid target to prey on. Geoffrey raised a questioning brow before Vukasin answered.

"I'll have them behaving as if I vere the Sainted Mother Mary." It was a dark promise that had Geoffrey glancing at O'Connor. O'Connor shrugged in response before Geoffrey returned his gaze on the pair. 

"Alright. Just don't cause me more trouble. I'm counting on you two." He implored. A stern warning tone hinted underneath.

"Yes sir." It came in unison before Geoffrey dismissed both men back to their barracks. He caught the tail end of Vincent grumbling about his bed as the door clicked shut. 

Geoffrey slumped down into his chair behind the desk with a tired sigh. "Why do I feel like I've just made a promise to the devil?"

"They're good men, sir. They'll keep the boys in line. Just don't expect their methods to be orthodox." O'Connor informed as he stepped around the desk to face his boss.

"That's what I'm afraid of."


	6. Rat Catcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This precedes Rat Trap in Captiv(ation). 
> 
> How the lads of Priwen came up with the trap and how they found the rat.

“Wait- your plan is to what?” McKinley blurted over the table as he watched Vincent stab a few eggs with his fork. Vuka’s own fork strayed towards the sniper’s plate only to be warded off with a quick swat on the hand when the Serbian tried to pilfer his piece of bacon. It wasn’t often that Vincent got to eat meat but he’d bleed himself to have bacon and he would stab anyone who tries to get in his way. Vuka included.

O’Connor rolled his eyes as he walked past the group still sipping at their crappy instant coffee and discussing a farfetched plan that Vincent woke up with and had apparently been contemplating all night long.

Most of the patrols that returned had already eaten their fill and headed to bed. The boys off patrol, like McKinley, were just waking up to carry on with their in house duties. Most of which were already finished with their meals and wandered off, leaving O’Connor and two of their newest recruits to scrub the pots and pans in the kitchen.

“A trap!” Vincent explained as he shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth after another valiant fight with Vuka for it. He shot a triumphant smirk in the Serbian’s direction before washing it down with his coffee and continuing. “It’d probably only work on skals and maybe a very stupid sewer beast but I’m certain it’ll work.”

“Needs bait.” Vuka interjected as he finished his mug and leaned back in his chair. One arm snaked around the back of Vincent’s chair to rest on the wood frame. The sniper didn’t mind the close contact. The two had been in worse positions when pinned down on patrols or huddled together in their bunks to stay warm on the really bad days.

“There are plenty of rats around.” Vincent did not miss the disgruntled sound from the kitchen that came from their bear of a commanding officer. “My condolences to Francach ahead of time.” He hollered over his shoulder.

McKinley snickered at the scowl O’Connor directed at the rickety table gathering. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he was up to mid-forearm in water, scrubbing away at dishes. A kettle set on the stovetop puffed steam as it began to boil. O’Connor was keen on delivering breakfast to their esteemed leader who oftentimes forgot that he needs sustenance to keep fighting leeches. Food and sleep both eluded the man because he was far too stubborn to open his eyes and see that there was more to the world than staring at reports, following blood trails or lurking in the dark at all hours. Since Reid’s absence and the accumulated reports, McCullum was becoming more reclusive than usual. Which meant he was either sulking or he was onto something. 

There was a betting pool already added to the kitchen board on which it was. Right next to _Who could outdrink O’Connor_ and _Who can make Babic laugh_ and of course the favorite of all, _How long until Bonner gets kidnapped by a leech._

There were several older ones still on the board, the scars of past gambles that the men found a brief moment of pleasure in joining in on. There was a fishing contest from the Summer, a bet two of the lads made on how many women they could woo and the more common ones involved in drunken brawls, fistfights and duels in the courtyard when spirits were high and work was low.

“Just a single rat won’t be enough.” McKinley offered, folding his arms in front of himself against the table. The lad was looking better now. Less like a walking corpse with more life to his complexion. O’Connor still refused to let him go on patrols. McCullum decided on rotations and O’Connor conducted the list of men that stayed back and the duties they carried out when they weren’t on the hunt, but both superiors spoke earnestly to one another about the state of each man in the ranks and whether or not they were fit to be out on the streets fighting. After the incident of McKinley losing his brother then trying to shoot Jonathan, it was decided that it would be best for the safety of everyone, that he’d be off duty until O’Connor deemed otherwise. Both for the lad and those he would be patrolling with should he be allowed.

“Ve vill find something.” Vukasin assured with a devilish smile.

  
  
  
  


It took four hours of walking around the city, scavenging the sewers and wandering through the Stonebridge Cemetery when they finally found possibly the biggest rat anyone in Priwen had ever seen. And surprisingly enough, it was O’Connor who found it. Inside a trap he had set in one of the storage buildings.

“The little fecker had been eating holes in the crates.” One of the brawlers cursed as they stared into a large wooden pickling barrel where the behemoth monstrosity was being kept. It was the size of a small dog at least.

“It’s certainly well fed.” Vincent grinned. “Maybe one rat will be enough after all.” He preened as he looked towards O’Connor as the older man stood, his back leaned against the wall of the storage shed, feeding a sunflower seed to Francach who sat perched on his shoulder. The sound of the rat’s teeth cracking open the seed punctuated the deafening silence as the larger guard considered it.

“Pay your respects to its life before you end it.” O’Connor answered in a clipped response. Vincent cringed inwardly as hard grey eyes steadied on him expectantly.

“Yes sir.” The sniper relented. The snicker of the brawler was not missed but it was quickly silenced by that same hard stare from their superior.

“How are you going to catch it?” The question came after O’Connor left the storage shed. Vincent realized in order for the rat to work, it had to be fresh. But this big fella had a habit of chewing through everything aside from the overly large pickling barrel. They couldn't exactly lug that all the way to their checkpoint and this beast of a rat looked like it could chomp off a finger if they weren’t careful.

“Fuck.” Vincent cursed. “Do you think we could sedate it?”

“With what?” The brawler responded with a breathy chuckle.

“I don’t know. Maybe McKinley’s socks? Those things could knock a leech on its arse.” The laughter that erupted filled the shed and lightened the serious tension that lingered in O’Connor’s absence. “But seriously. We need to figure something out for this leech trap to work.”


	7. Fanart by SDeeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art of Jonathan imprisoned in Priwen's cells by Sdeeys
> 
> Thank you so much for this wonderful art work. It is greatly appreciated! I love the muzzle!
> 
> Check them out in Tumblr! Their art for Vampyr is breathtaking.
> 
> https://sdeeys.tumblr.com/tagged/vampyr


	8. The Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey and a few of the lads go on a patrol and cross paths with the resident Dr. Leech. This comes before chapter 14 of Captiv(ation).

The night was colder than it had been lately, the bitter bite of winter was a common shadow lurking around windswept corners. It was one of the rare nights when he'd join a patrol instead of wandering out on his lonesome or staying cooped up inside his office buried under yet another mound of paperwork. Seriously, some days he wondered why he even agreed to take up the mantle. He was aware of the saying that the pen was mightier than the sword, and his hand was beginning to cramp with all the writing he was doing, proving he was more out of practice with this than with his preferred weapon of choice. 

Occasionally he'd get O'Connor to help him sort through them all and pick out the most important reports for him to focus on first. The larger Irishman would bring up a pot of tea and they'd sit in relative silence, filing through papers and counting the cuts on their fingers over the hours. With more ink spilled than blood, they would retire for the night and drag themselves off to other duties that needed their attention before they turned into their beds.

It was a relief to be able to stretch his legs properly away from the clutter of his office and the cramped courtyard. The cold air was a crisp breath filling his lungs and escaping in large white clouds that drifted up. Geoffrey rubbed his hands together to warm his fingers through his gloves as he walked the streets, the crunch of snow sounded under his boots as they traversed slush covered cobblestones to the snowy gritty gravel of the warehouse district between the West Docks and Southwark.

Babic, Bonner and McKinley trailed behind him, the younger of the trio occasionally clinging to his late brother's crucifix. Bonner and Babic kept their heads on a swivel, having heard several reports of skals and sewer beasts prowling the shipyards at night. The evidence was clear when they found the chewed up remains of an unfortunate docker left by the water's edge among a heap of trash.

"Keep your eyes peeled, lads." Geoffrey warned, his hand came to rest on his hip where the hilt of his sword weighed on his belt. He flexed his fingers against the cold, working the warmth back into his chilled digits as they proceeded further along the docks. Their attention was drawn by the roar of a sewer beast nearby and the sound of claws being raked across the metal plating of a warehouse door. The cries of the beast were cut short, fading with wet gurgles as the patrol grew closer.

Babic drew his bow, prepared to shoot the one responsible for the creature's death. Geoffrey was painfully aware that there weren't any patrols scheduled for this area. It had been a decision of his own making when he assigned the rotations and locations for the week. Which meant the one responsible was either part of the Brotherhood, or more likely, another leech.

It wasn't uncommon to see the beasts brutalizing each other in territorial displays. He just hoped to God it wasn't a Vulkod they would cross paths with tonight. They were sorely unprepared for that encounter.

McKinley was tucked in the back of the group beside Bonner, his fingers wound between the beads of his rosary while his other hand went to the gun on his hip. Bonner placed a hand on the young recruit's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You'll be fine. Just breathe." He assured.

McKinley nodded. 

Geoffrey took point with sword drawn and crossbow prepared to fire as they rounded the corner where steel beams and piles of coal were littered across the expanse, intermingled with abandoned debris cleared out after the bombings and the destruction. The salvage of the city had been a long hard process that went unfinished when the epidemic struck and the workers couldn't keep up with the demand.

Babic stayed close to McCullum as they rounded the corner and found the bloodied remains of a Sewer Beast lying crumpled against the ajar door to a warehouse. Long white marks ground into the metalwork were the evidence of its claws, nails broken and bloodied where it slashed in a futile attempt to fight off its attacker. Blood soaked the snow and gravel beneath the body, steam rising in the cold night air.

"Holy shit." McKinley cursed under his breath, a shaky note to his voice.

"An ekon did this." McCullum pointed out, giving the beast a firm kick to roll it over and expose the massive wounds at the end of sharp claws. They weren't large enough for a Vulkod but remained just as powerful if not more so. It cleaved the beast's ribcage wide open spilling its entrails onto the icy earth.

Large fat clumps of snow drifted down upon them, settling on their shoulders and nestled in their hair in speckles of white. The wind tickled at their faces, a bitter sting that whipped harshly at times and ghosted like an intimate whisper against their skin at others. Its nefarious whims carried the stench of blood towards the group, the acrid burning of flesh that mingled in the air from within the warehouse.

"Something's in here." McCullum announced, teasing the door open with his foot as he raised his crossbow to gaze through the crack in the door. Two dead skals lay half burnt in a fire that was started in the center of the room. Older corpses littered the floor from homeless beggars that attempted to make shelter in the place, unaware of the dangers these docks harbor at night.

Across the room was another door, shoved as wide open as the rollers would allow. Grime and dirt made it stick in place leaving it halfway ajar. The warmth that the fire offered was a welcome relief to the group but they didn't dare to linger long. McCullum stepped out of the shelter of the warehouse to inspect the open street on the other side. He didn't expect to find the culprit of these suspicious deaths to be the good doctor. Further down the street he could make out the shape of the young ekon as he searched the shadows for further threats to the populace.

It was tempting to beckon to the leech and goad him into a game of cat and mouse. The thought had entertained McCullum for the moment until he felt his hackles rise at the eerie sense of being watched. The assailants made themselves known in a flash of shadows and a battle cry in the snowy wind as two ekons lunged at the doctor from opposite sides.

Reid dodged in a quick step of shadows and displaced air, causing a stir through the snow as he slipped on the slick cobblestones. He quickly adjusted his stance in time to avoid a powerful strike with a saber. He parried the attack with a small machete and side stepped the second attack by the ekon's companion.

There was a flurry of movement as McCullum and his men stood by in the safety of the warehouse and watched the higher leeches go at it. For a young ekon new to his abilities, Reid was a fast learner. A compact blood spear drove into the forearm of the blond ekon, causing it to stumble with a scream of pain. The dark haired ekon avenged their companion with a confident slash that landed across Reid's shoulder.

The good doctor hissed through his teeth and bared his fangs in a snarl as he lunged in return. A strong swipe of his claws dug into the dark haired ekon's face. Blood splattered the ground, staining the snow a vicious red. Reid's luck turned for the worse when the blond ekon got the better of him. His claws ripped into the doctor's back as he lunged with alarming speed, causing Reid to be thrown off balance and skid into the snow. He barely got to his feet again when both ekons descended upon him without mercy. His body was bounced off of their attacks, thrown back and forth and tossed to the ground. Every swipe and strike of his claws was forfeit to the cold air and after a hard slash to his arm, his weapon was lost as well.

Bloodied and weakened, he dropped to his knees with a pained sound that pulled at McCullum. His chest tightened with panic as he watched the two beasts loom over Reid like cats toying with a helpless rat.

"Should we...help him?" The question came with growing uncertainty from Bonner. The man's voice was low, quiet enough that McKinley and Babic couldn't overhear. His finger rested on the side of his rifle, the weapon primed to take a shot at the ekons. He just waited for McCullum to say the word. 

The hunter was conflicted, as he watched Reid's helpless form slump between the monsters. The ekons were preening over their victory, rambling on just beyond what McCullum could hear. He could see their lips moving but their words were lost to the wind and the groaning protests of the warehouse.

"Sir?" Bonner pressed again, his green eyes darted from McCullum towards the beasts and back. His concern was growing by the second. McCullum sympathized but this was a call he wasn't sure how to make.

"Just….wait." McCullum held a hand up in command. His blue eyes narrowed on the scene as it played out. _Come on, Reid._

The dark haired ekon raised their saber to strike the final blow. The agonized look of loss on Reid's face twisted into something sharp and ferocious. Blue eyes glowed a fiery red, fangs bared in a vicious snarl that sent a cold chill curling down McCullum's spine. The roar of an infuriated ekon was something that couldn't be described, the horror that seeped into their bones as the hunters watched the fallen ekon rise with startling speed. A storm of shadows and blood twisting around him as claws ripped into the two assailants. Not even the harsh wind beating against the cold steel walls of the warehouse could drown out their screams as Reid literally ripped them apart.

What remained of the two leeches were just broken brutalized heaps in the snow, blood splattered and saturated the earth in a grizzly display as Reid stumbled away from the scene. His claws receded to blood stained hands as he cradled his own injuries. He stumbled, panting with great effort as he dragged himself further down the street then disappeared in a flash of shadows and a swirl of snow disturbed in his wake.

"Let this serve as a lesson to you all. No matter how weak a leech might seem, when they're cornered, they're at their most dangerous." McCullum gestured at the mess that littered the street in Reid's wake. His weapon still lay in the snow, blood encrusted and cracked from the blows it endured.

McCullum glanced over his men and noticed McKinley looked a startling shade of pale. "You alright lad?"

"Yes sir." It came as a shaky squeak. He let out a trembling breath and clutched his crucifix tighter in his palms, his weapon abandoned on his hip in lieu of the holy item.

"That only works if you have faith." McCullum added. "And it won't hold a powerful leech off for long." He patted McKinley on the shoulder as he walked past the young man and headed back the way they came.

"Let's get the fuck out of here. Best get back before we freeze to death in this shite weather." He urged, giving a whistle back at his men to snag their attention. McKinley scrambled to keep up with McCullum while Bonner and Babic strolled casually behind, quietly talking to one another in hushed tones. The walk back to Priwen was otherwise relatively quiet as the men contemplated the night's events and what they had witnessed.


	9. Police Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A response to Jonathan reporting McCullum to the police.
> 
> This is set between chapter 14 and 15 in Captiv(ation).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McCullum and O'Connor have a plan for just these instances.

It was a rare afternoon when the sun peeked through the clouds and shone down on the snow dusted streets and white capped rooftops. O’Connor was pleased that their patch work from the Summer was holding up against the terrible weather. He stoked the fire in the wood stove between scrubbing dishes, adding another log to the flames and humming an old Irish sailing song to himself.

Francach was nestled in a ratty old olive green scarf that laid on a small nightstand table beside the couch. A half eaten cookie laid in a pile of crumbs beside it while the rat slept. The Priwen Guard put a kettle on the stove to boil just as a knock came at the front door. Francach perked up from his nest, one ear flipped up to peer at the doorway before turning towards O’Connor.

“Come here _ceann beag._ ” A large hand was held out for the rat who sluggishly crawled from his nest, stretching his paws and his tail out before clambering up to the guard’s shoulder where he sat snug against his neck. He was half hidden in the mess of dark brown hair that hung down in a messy ponytail.

O’Connor’s broad frame filled the entryway as he opened the door to see who had ended up on Priwen’s doorstep. He suspected one of the rascals that went out to the market earlier that morning had left the front gate unlocked, something he would need to remind them about when they returned. Perhap he’ll make them scrub the floors as punishment for the oversight. The old dusty boards could use a bit of polish.

“Good morning, Sir-uuuhhh.” A man with fiery red hair and freckles smattering a pale complexion stood on the step. His head craned back as his eyes widened, attempting to take in the large form of the Priwen Guard. His gaze leveled on the burn across O’Connor’s face then darted towards the sound of a squeak in greeting. His nose wrinkled when he realized there was a rat on O’Connor’s shoulder.

“Good morning. What can I do for you?” O’Connor leaned against the threshold casually, his large size helped block out the biting winter wind that kicked up snow flurries in the street.

“I’m Inspector Kingsley from Scotland Yard.” The man introduced himself after a moment of pause. “I’m looking for a Mr. Geoffrey McCullum. I have a few questions for him.”

O’Connor raised a curious brow as he stepped away from the door, the frame groaned from the shift in weight. “Come on in, Inspector. Would you like some tea? I just set the kettle on.”

Kingsley looked taken aback by the ease at which O’Connor displayed. He nodded his head politely and kicked the snow from his shoes before moving further into the building. It was larger than the typical tenant housing. The ground floor was one open space between the kitchen, living room and dining space. Sofas, tables and chairs were scattered about in some order of randomness that hinted at very large gatherings. There was the remnants of brickwork where non-load bearing walls had been removed at one time or another. The work looked clean, the building was far more organized than was expected and the clutter was some form of controlled chaos.

O’Connor took a moment to set Francach back on his nest, a finger gently scratched the top of his head and smoothed down his back before withdrawing. He nudged the gingersnap cookie towards the rat before returning to the kitchen. “Take a seat, Inspector.” He called. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you sir. Um, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.” Kingsley called back as O’Connor moved about the kitchen, preparing two cups for tea and a small saucer of gingersnap cookies. A present from O’Connor’s current paramor.

“Beamard O’Connor.” He introduced, carrying the tray into the living space where the Inspector was seated in an armchair. It was across from the sofa with Francach’s nest beside it. He eyed the rat warily who nibbled on his cookie and cleaned his paws.

The inspector shifted uncomfortably in the worn out armchair, his hands folded neatly on his lap as he eyed Francach before turning his attention back to O’Connor. He accepted the cup of tea with a grateful smile, holding the porcelain cup so it would warm his cold hands. The steam rising from the drink was a relief in the nip that hung in the air from the door being held open for so long. Now that they were settled into the cushions, the fire from the wood stove helped warm the inspector up, thawing the ruddy splotches on his face from the bite of the wind and the bitter morning. The sun didn’t help ease the chill much, but it did ward off the majority of the gloom.

“Is Mr. McCullum here?” The inspector began, aware that he hadn’t received an answer to his earlier question yet.

O’Connor raised his tea to take a drink and ignored the fact Francach was weaseling his way across the arm of the chair to crawl into his lap. He balanced the tea cup on the saucer, the small dish looked tiny in his large hands as he held it gently. His free hand reached down to scoop Francach up to rest on his shoulder where he was safer. “I’d estimate he is still sleeping.”

“This late into the day?” Kingsley was surprised.

O’Connor set the cup down on the table and folded his hands in front of him. His elbows balanced on his knee as he leaned forward and settled into a comfortable hunch. “He works late into the night.”

“A _concerned citizen_ reported that Mr. McCullum may be recruiting people to form a militia of sorts.” Kingsley inquired. “Mr. O’Connor, are you aware of this sort of activity and the implications it could have?”

O’Connor leaned back in his seat and gestured at the sitting area. “I believe there is a misunderstanding, Inspector Kingsley.”

“Please elaborate, Mr.O’Connor.” Inspector Kingsley set his tea down on the table and crossed a leg over his knee, green eyes settled on O’Connor’s steely grey.

Any further conversation was interrupted by the sound of boots storming down the creaky wooden steps. “ _Guh-_ It’s all over the fucking place.” Vincent cursed.

“Stop vining big baby.” Vukasin chastised as the pair came around the corner. “Don’t tell O’Connor.”

“Don’t tell me what?” O’Connor hollered over his shoulder as he set Francach on his scarf nest and stood up to greet the two troublemakers. Vincent stumbled when his boot caught the corner of the wall and cursed, causing blood to spill from his hands all over the floor. O’Connor scowled at the pair. Vincent’s shirt was soaked all down the front with blood, the majority of it was coming from his nose and it appeared Vukasin had tried to stop the bleeding with an old pillowcase shoved against Vincent’s face but it was already covered in blood stains and soaked through. 

“I’m pregnant.” Vukasin blurted snidely.

“Congrats O’Connor, you’re a grandpa.” Vincent added with a snicker that was cut short as he gagged and coughed.

“What’s going on?” The Inspector barked in sudden alarm, jumping to his feet as well.

“Vinnie got bloody nose.” Vukasin waved flippantly as he passed the two men and shuffled Vincent ahead with one hand wound into the sleeve of his shirt, ensuring he didn’t fall or run into any more furniture.

“Sit him in the kitchen.” O’Connor ordered. “Inspector Kingsley, can you hand me that towel on the table.” He nodded towards a neat stack of towels that had just been folded up from yesterday’s laundry and hadn’t yet been properly put away.

The Inspector acted quickly and handed it off to O’Connor who carefully swapped the bloodied pillowcase for the new fresh towel. Vincent laid his head against the table and pinned the towel between his face and the surface. His fingers worked diligently to unbutton his shirt which was now a lost cause. O’Connor accepted the ruined shirt and dropped it into a bucket to be washed later. He moved around the kitchen to get a second towel from the pile, poured a little bit of hot water from the kettle onto the material and started cleaning the blood off of Vincent’s skin. The sniper leaned back in the chair and focused on holding the towel over his nose.

From where he stood, the Inspector could see the roadwork of wounds that littered Vincent’s torso. From self-inflicted cuts on the tops of his arms to road rash on his hip to the very large and gruesome scarring of a bullet to the upper back right along his spine. The pink outline of scars was a stark contrast to the naturally darker tone of his skin.

“You see Inspector, this is actually a halfway house for homeless soldiers that returned from the war.” He gestured at Vincent with a bob of his head. His hands worked to wring out the bloody towel. “Private Bonner, medically discharged after two years of service. He’s found a place here until he can find his feet again and handle his illness.”

“Corporal Babic-”

“I think that’s still bullshit that he outranks me. I want to see his papers!” Vincent groaned through the towel, glaring at Vukasin.

“You can’t read Serbian.” Vukasin pointed out unhelpfully. Vincent pouted and crossed his arms, still balancing the towel with his fingers with a frustrated sigh.

“Vukasin.” O’Connor called, causing his head to snap up. “Go wake up McCullum. Tell him Inspector Kingsley has some questions for him.”

“Yes sir.”

An awkward quiet befell the room as the Inspector waited by the table. His fingers tapped the back of the chair across from Vincent. O'Connor patted the top of Vincent's head to get his attention. He tilted the sniper's chin up with a gentle touch of his index and middle finger, urging him to look up so the dim lighting could shine on his face. He slowly pulled the towel away from Vincent's face as he examined the bleed.

"Is it slowing down?" Vincent asked.

"Looks like it. I'll take you to Pembroke after supper." O'Connor murmured, letting the towel rest against his face once more until the bleed stopped completely.

Vincent chuckled. "Are you coming because you're worried about me or because you want to see that lady nurse of yours?" O'Connor ignored the goading gesture with a roll of his eyes, turning back towards the mess that the pair caused.

"You're both more trouble than you're worth." O'Connor chastised gently as he dampened a rag and started to mop up the blood on the floor, ignoring the Inspector for the time being.

"You still love us, Da."

"Unfortunately." O'Connor grunted.

All three men looked up when a new set of footsteps came down the stairs. They weren't as reckless as Vukasin's and too heavy to be McKinley. A slow steady gait as McCullum came around the corner. His hair was hastily gelled back and he wore a white linen shirt and a pair of dark work trousers. His boots were untied and loose on his feet, giving the impression that he only just woke up and was in the process of getting dressed for the day. Under his arm was a file that he dropped on the table, brushing past O'Connor where he knelt to clean up the mess.

"Morning sir." The second in command grunted as their Leader strolled past to inspect the kettle with a gentle shake, prompting him to dig out a cup from the cabinet to pour himself some tea. The easy swagger belied the exhaustion that shadowed his face, the dark puddles under his eyes and the untamed scruff of his beard.

Sharp blue eyes gazed over the rim of his cup as he regarded the Inspector for the first time since he entered the room. "What's this all about, Inspector?"

Kingsley looked shaken up at just a glance, which was understandable. McCullum was a force to be reckoned with. His presence often demanded the room, his eyes were keen and predatory, pinning the weaker men to their spot and stealing their voice. Kingsley looked startled at the question, he gawked then tore his gaze away to address his notes, fumbling through the papers and nearly ripping one clean off the spine. "Um, yes."

McCullum noticed the bead of sweat on the Inspector's brow, the way he avoided his gaze and shied away from the table with an unsteady shuffle. McCullum stepped closer, the table set between them on good faith but that didn't hide the flinch from Kingsley. He was a rabbit pretending to be a Guard Dog for the people. And McCullum was a wolf with sharp teeth bared in a promising smile.

"There was a concerned citizen that reported suspicious behavior regarding you and your _companions._ " Kingsley stammered out.

"My charges." McCullum corrected. "These men are my responsibility and I look out for them." He gestured towards the file on the table. When the front flipped open, the first documents regarded Corporal Vukasin Matija Babic and Private Vincent Francis Bonner. There were a handful of other documents that proved the occupants within the building were all former military. It even detailed their medical conditions such as Vincent's blood disease for example.

"Nurse Finch and Dr. Swansea at the Pembroke Hospital take care of all our men and their health problems. If you have any questions on the validity of our claims, I suggest you discuss it with them." McCullum explained, finishing his tea in a few sips before setting it back down on the table. He watched as the Inspector rifled through some of the documents, examining their credibility.

"And the reports of men wandering around armed?" Kingsley added, his gaze raised to meet McCullum's before he quickly averted it to peer just over the leader's shoulder.

"Between the epidemic and the gangs, most of these men don't feel safe walking the streets by themselves. Especially after the war, it's hard to feel safe without a gun on hand." He answered matter-of-factly. His hand came to rest on Vincent's shoulder in a sympathetic pat as he walked past. O'Connor had mopped up as much of the blood that trailed the floor, a majority of it had been soaked up by Vincent's shirt.

"He has a point." Vincent added, one hand raised with his index finger pointed up. The sniper pulled the towel away from his face and waited a moment, testing to see if the bleeding stopped. He appeared pleased, until the urge to sneeze quickly overcame him and he had just enough forewarning to shove the towel back against his face. His shoulders shuddered as his face scrunched up. O'Connor sighed heavily as he approached the table with a cautious eye, examining it for any splatter first before tending to the sniper.

"That's disgusting." McKinley's voice called from the stairwell as he peered into the kitchen with a grimace, one hand braced the threshold as he snuck a peek at the Inspector. Vincent glared at him over the stained towel.


	10. Family Feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is after chapter 16 of Captiv(ation). Priwen's point of view of the fight between Jonathan and Mary.

“The hell?” Vincent scoured the street near one of Priwen’s solitary outposts overlooking the canal. It was a routine patrol as per usual, the night was calm and quiet for the most part, leading the pair to assume it would be an uneventful and boring night. Vincent had no sooner spoken those words when he was forced to regret them. The cobblestones were splattered in blood. The smell permeated the street, infiltrating his nostrils as he grimaced at the pile of corpses. “Christ.”

He cursed as they walked towards the steps of Stonebridge Cemetery. The gates were wide open and blood smeared the stones in long drag marks where men had been dispatched with ease. Necks snapped, claws ripped through their chests, throats torn open with reckless haste. This was the work of a very aggressive ekon. One on a mission.

“We should report back to McCullum.” Vincent started when Vukasin hushed him. The cemetery was deathly silent, an unsettling absence of noise that curled cold dread into the pit of Vincent’s stomach.

“There is something there.” The Serbian gestured towards the flicker of shadows further in. There was movement but it was going the opposite direction away. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Vincent cursed under his breath, realizing that Vuka caught the scent of blood and was on the hunt. He should have suspected as much. He adjusted the strap of his rifle and started after his friend. “You’re going to get us killed.”

“Maybe you.” Vuka retorted teasingly as he followed the blood trail. Even the world’s worst tracker could keep up with it, whoever killed the skals inside the cemetery was begging to be found. The question was, who were they baiting into the trap?

It wasn’t hard at all to find the source. They caught a glimpse Dr. Reid in the distance moving further into the cemetery. The back of his coat was a dark silhouette against the snowy backdrop. The quiet was almost deafening as the guards rushed towards them. They caught the sound of Vicar Larrabee groaning insults at the good doctor as they peered around the entrance for a good hiding spot. Vincent’s eye caught the ledge which he promptly elbowed Vuka to help him with. Vuka looked at the sniper, following where he bobbed his head towards and understood. A quick boost up had Vincent scrambling over the worn and broken down brickwork that used to be a walkway before it crumbled. He laid down on the cold stones and snow, flat on his belly as he reached down to haul Vuka up behind him.

“Reminds me of the old days..” Vincent chuckled when they both sat for a moment to listen and watch through the snow covered railing. They crouched and crawled along the walkway, carefully picking their path through the broken brick and railing to get a better view.

“Hopefully ve don’t get shot this time.” Vuka grunted, catching the scowl on Vincent’s face. It faded quickly when they heard the female voice.

“-like your Christ, Vicar.” 

Vincent frowned. “I’m not religious but the idea that Jesus was a vampire is somehow more disturbing but also makes a lot more sense to me.” He grunted when Vuka swatted him in the back of the head for the comment.

“This his sister?” He asked after a moment.

Vincent sighed, leaning his back against the railing after setting his rifle aside so it was upright against the brick. Easily within reach but no longer getting caught up on everything. If worse comes to worse, he has his hand gun on his hip. “Looks like it. And Mrs. Reid got dragged into the sibling feud.”

“Mother, say hello to your son.” The guards watched with equal measure of disgust as the sister mesmerized their elderly mother like some kind of puppet. The drawn out words, the monotone voice, the deathly blank expression. It left a foul taste in Vincent’s mouth and for once it wasn’t Vuka’s cooking.

Vuka shared the same sentiment judging by his expression. “Can I shoot her?” He asked after Mrs. Reid spoke to her son. The broken sound in Jonathan’s voice as he called to his mother, trying to get through whatever trance the sister had on her, it made them sympathetic to Jonathan’s pain. Vincent couldn’t imagine having to endure this sort of ordeal with his Aunt and Uncle who raised him. He wouldn’t exactly call it luck, but at least his Uncle passed on from sickness during the war and his Aunt moved in with her sister in Scotland. He didn’t have anything to go back to, but he also had nobody left to lose. No one that would be put in harm’s way because of his presence in Priwen. He knew Vuka’s situation was much the same, having lost his grandmother during the Long March from Serbia.

Family was a double edged sword when in this line of work. He hadn’t anticipated that Jonathan would have to worry about other ekons harming what little family remained, let alone his own sister. 

“It’s tempting to say yes.” Vincent answered quietly, making sure to keep his voice low to a whisper lest they overhear. “But if she’s anything like her brother, she may be too much for us to handle even with Jonathan’s help.  _ If  _ he can bring himself to hurt her.” It was the painful realization. Two leeches meet in a cemetery, would they leave alive or would one die here? Would Jonathan be able to fight the sister he loved and mourned, or would he forfeit his own life for hers? What kind of impact would that cause?

“Do you think he’ll stop her?” Vincent asked after a moment.

Vuka was pensive as he rolled the thought around in his head. From what they knew about the good doctor, he had a habit of surprising expectations. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

So it was the same as Vincent thought. He hoped Vuka had enough luck backing him to last through a fight against her should Jonathan fail.

They watched the whole situation play out like some sort of macabre theater, similar to something they’d expect to find Doris Fletcher involved in. “Is it just me or does the sister sound like….” Vuka started, searching for the right word to describe what he was witnessing.

“Like she has a thing for her brother? I’m getting that too.”

“- _ I longed for your arms.”  _ Mary’s voice rang through the quiet cemetery, occasionally stirring Vicar Larrabee who looked like he was either dozing off or about to pass out where he was hunched over. Vincent had the thought of trying to get his attention but he figured the man would cause more of a racket in trying to escape than he would if he sat there a bit longer. At least until they finished this drama.

Both men grimaced as they continued to watch the spectacle. Vuka glared at the sister, his hand moved to his weapon when she moved to bite Mrs. Reid. His aqua eyes sharpened and narrowed on her. The tension set in his shoulders didn’t leave, even as Jonathan continued to persuade his sister not to harm their mother. 

"Let her go! She has no part to play in this!" Vincent shifted into a crouch, his rifle left behind with Vukasin as he waited, watching Mary give into the command. She teased it out, let Jonathan fall for her indecision before ordering Mrs. Reid to go home.

“Vinnie.” Vuka said firmly. Vincent nodded and headed down the stone walkway. He kept low, hidden from sight by the dead foliage draped over the stone railing and the pile of snow that accumulated so far this winter. He nearly slipped going down the steps on the other side, but he was thankful they were intact nonetheless. He reached the gate just as Mrs. Reid was walking down the path alone into the dark of night. The streets were dangerous, littered with skals from here all the way to the West End. He cut her off and spent several minutes trying to coax her away from the destined route. She was practically catatonic, shivering and rocking in place as Vincent looped an arm around her shoulder and helped her up the steps.

Vuka had moved from their vantage point towards the steps where Vincent approached, the rifle was set back against the railing as they settled in. “We should get her home.” Vincent offered.

“I vant to vatch.” Vuka gestured towards the growing tension between the siblings. The aggression and hostility was slowly mounting, more so from Mary’s side of the conversation than Jonathan’s. The good doctor was keeping a level head through the whole ordeal, trying to make peace and find a solution to the madness. It was a fruitless attempt, both guards could see it. Mary was determined, driven by madness but they understood the pain in the doctor’s voice each time she pulled further and further away from him.

“-that smooth and wicked voice would stop RINGING in my ear.” Mary all but yelled.

“She vants to fuck him.” Vuka looked smug at his comment, causing Vincent to roll his eyes. He shucked off his extra jacket and draped it over Mrs. Reid’s shoulders to help buffer against the cold. It was thicker than her own coat and he hoped it would hold her over for a little longer.

The fight was an astonishing display unlike anything either guards had seen regarding two ekons. They were well aware of the power those of higher vampires had been gifted with. They were a force to be reckoned with and oftentimes feared. The nearly catatonic state of Mrs. Reid more than proved that. She now sat between the two guards who huddled around her, holding onto her like a porcelain doll, trying to keep her warm and calm. 

“Fuck, she’s after the Vicar.” Vincent hissed, reaching quickly for his rifle on impulse. He watched, shocked and horrified when Jonathan threw himself in front of Mary and took the brunt of her teeth. The flesh ripped and he could have sworn he heard a crunch of bones at some point. It was like the fight in the docks all over again. Only Jonathan had contained his rage this time. He threw himself at her attacks as if in some vain hope that she would run out of steam and give up on this childish temper tantrum. This was obviously not the case.

Vincent winced when Jonathan’s claws ripped his sister open, the blood that splattered the ground was a gory display. It was like a cable drawn taut had finally snapped and everything settled into this sudden calm. The serenity between the two when it finally came to an end, the quietly spoken promises as Jonathan drove that stake into her chest. Vincent had covered Mrs. Reid’s eyes so she wouldn’t have to see that.

“Let’s go.” 

Vuka agreed and helped Mrs. Reid down the steps as Vincent trailed behind him, his rifle situated back on his shoulder as he hunched against the bitter cold and snow tickling at his neck. As they left the cemetery, they could hear the wails of Jonathan’s cries on the wind. The sobs of a man who had lost everything all over again. It was as painful to listen to as it was to watch.

They remained in silence most of the way through Whitechapel as they headed towards the West End. Vuka spoke softly to Mrs. Reid, his arm looped through hers, guiding her by the elbow. The rough edges of the Serbian smoothed out to something almost childish and innocent. Like a young boy happily escorting their grandmother around, preening at her quiet praises and the gentle touch of aged and fragile fingers caressing his cheek.

Vincent followed behind them, his thoughts lingering on the fight as something weighed on his mind. They stopped on the border of the West End and Whitechapel, where the quarantine fence kept the two boroughs separated. Sneaking just inside the gates, they spotted the familiar figure of one Inspector Albright wandering the base of the steps leading up towards the Church. Vincent took his jacket back and waited while Vuka guided her towards the Inspector. The man was distracted, scribbling into his notebook and muttering to himself. They waited, tucked around the corner until the man could be heard calling to Mrs. Reid.

With her safely with the authorities, they headed back towards Whitechapel, specifically Priwen. Vuka held onto Vincent’s rifle while he shrugged his coat back on and shivered against the cold. He looped the strap back over his shoulder and breathed hot air into his gloved hands trying to warm them against the snow and bitter chill.

“Should we tell McCullum? About Mary I mean.” It had weighed on his thoughts the entire trip. Of course they’d need to report the men that were killed but he didn’t know how far they should go in their report.

“Vhat do you think?” It was a genuine question. Vincent shoved his hands into his pockets as he stared at the ground and kicked a clump of snow with his boot. It shattered and fell into smaller pieces. He stopped and stared at Vuka thoughtfully.

“I think...fuck, the Doc didn’t deserve that.” He admitted. “Leeches are bad and all, yeah but  _ his sister.” _ Vincent pressed. “We’re partly to blame as well.” He sighed.

“He made her by biting.” Vuka reminded. They had all been made aware of the report from the night Reid was found. The body had been bitten, there were witnesses from Priwen who saw Jonathan bite her. There was no blood feeding or anything. Which didn’t make sense when compared to what they knew about the creation of leeches. Blood was their link from Sire to Progeny. “Vhat if he bites others? How many others could be leeches because of him?”

“Unless there is an army of undead vampire rats lurking in the sewers, I don’t think we have to worry about the things Reid has bitten.” Both men paused, considered the imagery and shuddered.

“Don’t tell O’Connor. He vill adopt them.” They started walking again, their course set for home. The sooner they returned and reported in, the sooner those bodies can be recovered and get a proper burial.

“So, we tell McCullum that what? Reid fought a rogue ekon and killed it. End of story. It killed the men, Doc killed it, we mop up the mess.”

“Yes.” Vuka answered quietly.

“Fun. I’ll be glad to get out of this weather. I’m freezing my ass off.” Vincent grumbled. Vuka raised a brow and glanced back at Vincent’s rear.

“You still have plenty left. Stop vhining.” Vincent rolled his eyes, giving Vuka a playful shove to the shoulder. They bumped back and forth into each other before falling into their usual bitching and banter. A small attempt to forget what they had witnessed tonight.


	11. Grocery Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically I wrote this with the intention that it would come before the scene with Mary and Jonathan's fight. But then I decided to do the chapter where Vincent and Vuka sit in on it, so here is this. It's based around the same time was chapter 16-17 for Captiv(ation).

It was in the early hours of night that Vincent found himself wandering the streets beside Vuka. Their arms were loaded with paper sacks and wrapped packages of fish, vegetables and other assorted food from the small market around the corner. They had managed to catch the vendors right before they closed, earning a cheaper price for their goods with a bit of persuasion from Vincent. He was pleased with the two large loaves of bread they managed to snag for the price of one, the only part of their would-be meal tonight that Vuka was preparing, that he was looking forward to.

“Why fish?” Vincent wasn’t one to complain when it came to food, after spending his time at war eating meager rations and what little scraps he could scrounge together from abandoned or destroyed farm houses. But since his return, he was sick and tired of eating fish. There was fish for almost every meal, aside from the rare few times O’Connor would give him bacon and since he technically wasn’t supposed to be eating red meat, he wallowed in the torment that followed. Hell, right now even the doves looked good, better than _fish._ He'd kill for a roasted chicken, tender and juicy with a side of scallop potatoes. _Damn it, now he was even hungrier._

“Fish is cheap.” Vukasin reminded him, carrying his own mound of packages. They were headed for a smaller outpost further into Whitechapel. Outpost might have been an overstatement since it was more like a tiny dilapidated safe house just like the rest of the decrepit and half destroyed neighborhood it was a part of. It had a promising view over the canal where skals had been appearing in the last few nights. Their orders were to wait for them to show up and clear them out quickly. Given the set up, Vincent had already picked out the window he would sit at and snipe the leeches from.

In the meantime, they needed to eat and Vuka volunteered cheerfully to cook.

“I’m sick of fish.” Vincent whined, frowning down at the package that rankled his nose. He swore he was going to smell like it for the rest of the night. Luckily he can work from a distance, otherwise the bastards will catch his scent long before he can get close.

“Do not vorry. You von’t taste it vith the paprika.” Vukasin’s words were a deadly promise as Vincent groaned. 

“Where do you keep getting all the paprika?”

“I have my sources.” Vuka smiled, a devilish look that spread on his rugged features. Vincent rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back towards the street when something caught his eye.

“Hey, is that the doctor?” It was hard to see from this distance but the fancy grey coat and the tall dark silhouette were a dead giveaway in this part of town. Either that or Cadogan Bates grew a foot and learned some class in the last day or so when he wasn’t strong arming immigrants into crude displays of debauchery and coercion.

“Vhere?” Vukasin asked, following Vincent’s gaze until he spotted the man in the shadows. He looked distracted as he examined the torn up and weather beaten posters that lined the walls. Each declaring honor in serving King and Country. Vincent was well aware that there was no such thing as honor when it came to war. Only wealthy politicians too fat and lazy to get their own hands dirty or too fragile in their delicate constitutions to take a life. They throw money at everything and think it solves all the world’s problems but when money actually matters, they’re nowhere to be seen. Such as now, when the people were dying in the streets by the thousands and the wealthy and elite were painfully absent.

He’s seen too many kids dying for their “honor” in the trenches, fed upon by rats and ravaged by the cruel effects of gas. He’s looked too many men in the eye before putting a bullet in their heads for him to believe in such an ideal. He has to live with that, and he accepts what he’s done. He could imagine that the good doctor may share the same ideals to a point, if the sullen expression on his face was anything to go by.

“Doctor Reid!” Vincent called down the street, wincing internally when the ekon startled, his head whipped around to find the culprit calling his name. He offered a muted smile in the guard’s direction, a stiffness formed in his posture, shoulders rigid and wary.

“Good evening, Mr. Bonner. Mr. Babic.” Jonathan nodded curtly. He appeared to second guess rather to move from his spot or keep his distance where he was. The guards made the decision for him as they walked closer.

“You’re out early.” Vincent inquired. The sun hadn’t been down for long when they traversed the market.

“As are you.” Jonathan returned, stepping closer to the pair but still maintaining a comfortable distance.

Vincent gestured with the arm load of goods he carried, a bob of his chin towards the fish as he grumbled. “Getting ingredients for supper. Vuka is cooking tonight.” The last part was grimaced before the sniper chimed up. “You’re a world weary man, Doc. Thoughts on foreign food?”

“You can never have too much paprika.” Vukasin pointed out helpfully, though the thought was dismissed by the scowl from Vincent.

“Yes! You! Can!” He blurted, turning on the Serbian with a pointed look. “There are recipes for a reason. Moderation is a _thing_ you know.”

“Moderation is for veak men vith veak stomachs.” Vukasin countered. “Like you.”

“Bastard.” The sniper grumbled.

“As enticing of a topic as that may be to entertain, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” Jonathan was already beginning to turn away, a sudden and sharp end to the conversation that was unusual for the doctor. It was a rare occasion when Vincent found himself in a brief conversation with the social butterfly of a doctor. Vincent didn’t miss the small frown that dipped in his expression, the lost look that clouded his eyes. The red swollen crescents that lingered beneath the pale blue. Even in the low light of the streets, Vincent could tell the doctor looked like shit. More so than usual for an ekon.

“Something wrong, Doc?” Vincent lowered his voice as he stepped forward. He noted the sudden tension that curled into Reid’s shoulders as he stepped back. An apologetic smile spread on his lips as he shook his head.

“I’m fine. Just….busy.” The words were strained, a fragile excuse that didn’t hold up to Vincent’s inquiries.

“Doc?” Vincent frowned. He took a step towards Jonathan, one hand reached out to gain his attention before the ekon swatted it away. Jonathan’s hand lingered on Vincent’s arm for a moment, a pained expression on his face, twisted with torment as he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. Just- _leave me be_.” It was a broken sound in the doctor’s throat, a desperate plea before he vanished in a sudden rush of shadows, startling Vincent back. Vukasin’s eyes tracked the mist, searching their surroundings for the ekon’s presence but it was quickly apparent that he was long gone.

“What the fuck was that about?” Vincent turned his attention towards Vuka, seeking answers from his companion. Vuka shrugged, brows furrowed in thought.

“First McCullum was sulking and pissed off this morning, now Reid’s flighty as hell. What the fuck did McCullum do now?” Vincent blurted, scowling over the bags as they started walking again. Vuka’s hand rested on the sniper’s shoulder, urging him along the quiet streets towards their outpost.

“You know vhat vill make you feel better?”

“If you say paprika, I’m gonna throw you in the canal.” Vincent warned, but he didn’t miss the grin that spread on the Serbian’s face. His hand patted Vincent’s shoulder firmly in consolation.

“Hope you can swim. I vill drag you vith me.”


	12. Keep Your Cross By Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O'Connor visits Pembroke but not for medical reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be taking a break from updating chapters for a week for both The Priwen Chronicles and Captivation so I can work on future chapters for the fic in a leisurely manner. (And so I can try and get ahead without the rain storms knocking out my internet all day and night)
> 
> I promise I will be back, thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the story so far!

The frequency of O'Connor's visits to Pembroke had increased over the last several months. Most notably, since Nurse Gertrude Finch, or her real name, Gertrude de Vinke, began working there. Or, at least since the day O'Connor had to manhandle two recruits through the doors of the hospital to be treated for injuries. It was a training scrap that turned into an argument that got out of hand. O'Connor cuffed both young men for their stupidity and dragged them into Pembroke to be tended to. One had a broken hand while the other was missing at least one tooth and bit a chunk out of his tongue. Minor cuts and bruises followed while the lovely Nurse Finch tended to their wounds.

O'Connor stood dutifully by the door, arms crossed as he glared both men down and kept them pinned in place, behaving like good proper lads while the Nurse does her job. He even swatted them and made them thank her kindly for the care. He apologized for their rudeness as they scowled through the whole ordeal until they were relieved to head back to Priwen. O'Connor lingered for a moment longer to properly introduce himself and from then on, it became a habit.

He figured by now, he was a facet during Pembroke's day shift, slipping away from his duties when the opportunity allowed, to stop in and see how she was doing. In the last month, it cycled into night shifts as Pembroke grew desperate for manpower when a few of their staff resigned in quick succession.

It was when she moved to nights, that O'Connor started appearing at the early hours or late evenings to walk her home. On the days when Milton Hooks couldn't give the nurses rides to and from work because the snow had fallen too heavily or his ambulance spent more time running patients than it could spare.

He waited by the reception hall, bundled up in the thickest warmest jacket he owned with a dark green scarf pulled around his neck. The winter weather was relentless as it pelted the streets in steady heaps and piles with each passing day. O'Connor had joked with McKinley that they were soon going to be snowed in but looking at the weather, it didn't look as funny as he suggested. It made patrols more dangerous. Fighting in treacherous conditions. A single slip up, quite literally, could spell death for any one of their men.

O'Connor held his hands up to his mouth as he breathed warmth into them. The cold nip outside still clung to him from his long walk through Whitechapel. He rubbed his palms together and offered a small smile of greeting towards Nurse Hawkins as she passed. The young nurse gave a fleeting smile in return before heading down the hall. She turned into a room and disappeared. A few minutes later, Miss Vinke emerged, her dark hair tied up out of her face. A genuine glowing smile met her lovely lips as she placed a faded red scarf around her neck and dug her gloves from her pocket. The dark petticoat she wore didn't look like it would fend against the cold very well, but the distance to her apartment was short.

"Good evening, Miss Vinke." O'Connor's voice rolled out like the growl of a great bear, yet still remained tender and gentle. He held a hand out towards her, accepting it gently into his great paws as he pressed a kiss to her knuckle. 

" _Goedenavond_ , Mr. O'Connor." She greeted in return. They fell into easy routine as he offered her his elbow, threading their arms together as he escorted her out of the hospital. It looked almost comical, as O'Connor dwarfed most men, including Dr. Reid himself. Whereas Miss Vinke was a small but voluptuous woman. Even while bundled up against the bitter cold, she looked dainty and fragile when compared to O'Connor's physical size.

He supposed that worked in his favor, as she felt far safer walking home with him at her side. They spoke softly in close confidence as they walked. Miss Vinke told O'Connor about her day and the ridiculous if not also humorous stories involving her eminent and devoted colleagues. They may be well mannered and brilliant doctors, but they were oftentimes prone to flaws. Like when Dr. Strickland slipped earlier that evening on a puddle of melted snow Miss Howcroft and Mr. Elwood had brought into the hospital after sneaking outside. They had attempted to build a snowman indoors. 

Nurse Branagan was furious when she discovered the mess but Dr. Reid stood atop the stairs, shielding his laughter behind a closely guarded smile. Or when Nurse Hawkins and Mr. Hooks put sour throat drops in Dr. Ackroyd's tea. Or when Dr.Reid slipped a bit of snow down Dr. Swansea's shirt when the Administrator wasn't paying attention. In his defense, Dr. Reid had tried to get Dr. Swansea's attention twice but the man was too enamored with his book and refused to acknowledge their presence 

O'Connor laughed, a deep hearty laugh at that. He could see it, along with the disapproving scowl on Swansea's face and the bitter enraged look on Ackroyd's with his nose wrinkled in disgust. "I'm not surprised. They sound a bit like my lads. Plenty of trouble to get into when permitted."

"Indeed." Miss Vinke smiled, drawing her scarf further up her face to ward off the bitter cold that burned her cheeks.

Their conversation fell quiet when the sharp piercing scream of a skal cried out nearby. O'Connor stopped in his tracks, one arm snaked around Miss Vinke's waist as he searched the darkened alleys for the creature. The disturbing shine of its eyes gave away not one, but two beasts lurking just beyond.

"Do you have your cross?" O'Connor asked lowly as he stooped down to speak in her ear. His beard itched at her cheek as she nodded. "Good." He reached one hand up to cup her fingers where they gripped the rosary through her coat. He reached up to hook the beads with his finger, slowly easing it out into the open until it rested in her palm. "You're going to need to have enough faith for the both of us. Can you do that, Miss Vinke?"

His grey eyes took in the determined look that crossed her face. The expression of a woman at war, prepared for the worst but willing to oppose it nonetheless. O'Connor knew of her service in France, working day and night to save lives after the Battle of Argonne Forest. She was a lot like the men he served beside, carrying a dark burden through troubled times. But she shed light wherever she walked.

O'Connor reached into his pocket and withdrew a pair of brass knuckles, sliding them onto his fist, he gripped them firmly. One hand rested against her lower back as he spoke. "Ready?"

"Yes." 

O'Connor nodded and whistled at the skals. Their eyes gleamed dangerously at him as they honed in on prey. Their maddening screams were shrill and unholy as they lunged. Miss Vinke wielded her rosary like a knight wielded their shield. O'Connor's broad frame loomed protectively at her side. She spoke quickly and passionately in her native tongue as she called to her faith and brandished it like a weapon, stunning the beasts in their approach.

_"Heb Ik het u niet bevolen? wees sterk en heb goeden moed, en verschrik niet, en ontzet u niet; want de HEERE, uw God, is met u alom, waar gij heengaat."_

O'Connor's fist met the first skal's skull, a sickening thwack as softened tissue cracked under his strike. The skal went down with a feral screech that broke into a pitiful gurgle. Blood splattered the cobblestones as he rushed towards the second, his free hand caught it by the throat as he slammed it into the nearest wall. His fist rained down blow after blow as the brass weapon cracked at its head like it were a ripened melon. The creature struggled but it was fruitless in its attempts. Eventually it stopped moving altogether. O'Connor stepped away, letting the corpse fall to the snow where heaps of garbage lie tucked against the buildings.

"Beamard!" Miss Vinke called out, raising her rosary to try and stun the first Skal, but it twisted away and rushed at the Priwen second. Its teeth gnashing in a broken grimace, its jaw hung crooked where a large gash broke the side of its head and leaked to where its cheek bone should have been. Now it was jagged bone piercing through papery skin. O'Connor struck at the beast but it feinted to the right, dropping low to an all fours crouch. It barreled into him like a bull but O'Connor dropped his whole weight on top of the beast, flattening it beneath him and the snow. It gave him enough time to reach for the stake inside his coat as the beast squirmed and clawed desperately for purchase before the sharpened end of the weapon was driven through it's back into its heart.

Only when he was certain it was dead this time, did O'Connor rise from the beast and dust himself off. Snow and blood caked his knees where the grime had pooled and puddled beneath him. He had blood splattering his cheek, chilled against the cold wind as he turned to address his companion.

"Are you alright, Miss Vinke?" He stepped towards her as he removed the brass knuckles and stuffed them back into his pocket. His hand reached out to cup her cheek, searching her soft eyes for the answer.

"I am fine, Mr. O'Connor. Are _you_ okay? You're not injured, are you?" She pressed, her fingers clutched at the lapels of his coat, searching for any sign that the beast's sharp claws had pierced it and driven into his flesh. The relief that spread across her face when she found nothing, was nothing short of euphoric.

"I'm fine, Miss Vinke." O'Connor assured for good measure. "May I just say that you are a kind and courageous woman?"

"Mr. O'Connor, you flatter me."

"The flattery is well earned, Miss." He hummed as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. They stood in that dirty alley for several minutes, allowing the moment to linger as they gathered their wits and calmed their frantically beating hearts. It wasn't out of fear, no, O'Connor was certain. But excitement. A rush like no other. It was when all was calm, that they resumed their travel through the streets, lighter of heart but sharper of wits as they held close to each other until they reached the safety of Miss Vinke's apartment.


	13. O'Connor's Keepsake: Photograph of Nurse Gertrude "Finch" de Vinke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A photograph made by Svart-Jade of Nurse Finch
> 
> A keepsake Beamard O'Connor keeps tucked in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The model for the faceclaim of Gertrude is Susan Iishak/Susan Du Rietz


	14. Evening Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent has a medical problem. Vuka thinks its hilarious.
> 
> This is before chapter 20 of Captivation

Vincent didn’t think his curse could get worse, but then it did. As per usual, the universe continues to surprise him in the most horrific ways possible. Vincent laid in bed, glaring up at the ceiling as if he could make the water stained wood set ablaze. He folded his arms over his chest, quietly trying to recall whatever it was that set his body off to put him in such a state. Foolishly, he appeared to have forgotten whatever wet dream had incited the stiffness between his legs, but after a moment’s thought he considered that a rare and precious blessing. He didn’t need anymore problems or distractions than he already had.

He attempted to will it away, but after a few minutes when it didn’t budge, he resigned himself to giving it a little help. He snaked his hand down, slipping it into his trousers as he started to stroke himself. He was incredibly hard, he had to admit. More so than he bet was natural or healthy to be. A quick peek under the blankets confirmed that, yes, his skin was starting to turn a dark shade from all the blood pumping to his shaft. The sensation of his palm felt cool in comparison to the heat of his dick, as his calloused work roughened hand tried to relieve the pressure. The sensation was a blurry line between pleasure and pain, pins and needles colliding with jolts of warmth that fluttered and pooled at the base of his abdomen, yet his relief didn’t seem any closer.

“Fuuuuuuck.” He cursed, turning his head to bury it into his pillow with a long groan. He retracted his hand from his trousers and wadded it into the ratty old blanket.

“Vhat is wrong?” Vuka’s voice reached up from the bunk below, the sound of movement clicking together as the Serbian prepared his arrows for the night’s patrol. Vincent heard the quiver be set on the bed, the arrows jostled around loudly in the quiet of their small room. A moment later, the glistening pair of aqua eyes was peering up into his bunk with concern knitted in his brows. “Did you bleed all over your pillows again?”

“No.” Vincent huffed and turned to face Vuka more directly. He pouted, glaring down at the edge of the pillow case as if it had somehow caused his current misery.

“Then vhat is wrong?” Vincent could see the Serbian’s eyes searching the bed for the signs of injury or illness. That nagging paranoia nibbling at his mind as it always did when someone showed weakness or fault in their health. Vincent understood why it was there, and he was aware of why Vuka looked at him that way some days. As if he expected the sniper to collapse and die on the spot when his health was at its worst. He hid it behind casual jabs and stabbing remarks that they tossed back and forth with friendly barbs. But it was still there, deep in the pools of his eyes.

Vincent chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully before he relented. “I have a...problem.” He nodded down the length of his bed. His hand dropped to pull back the blanket and expose the prominent bulge straining his pants. “I haven’t bled recently so it _won’t go away._ ” He pointed out.

“Oh. That is all?” Vuka asked, his words were dismissive but Vincent wasn’t blind. He saw that dangerous smile curl on the Serbian’s lips. The one that told him he was going to regret telling Vuka and how much he was never going to live this down. Vuka’s voice dropped lower as he asked. “Vould you like some help?”

Vincent refuses to address the fact that the deep rumble of the Serbian’s accent made him somehow harder. He closed his eyes, sucked in a sharp breath and screamed internally because today was not the day for sexual revelations or his mind to tell him that his tastes run along the dangerous and deranged side.

“How do you expect to help?” He had to ask. He had to know if he was reading too much into this situation.

“I could tell O’Connor.”

“Don’t you dare!” Vincent hissed, grabbing at Vuka’s shirt and winding it up in his fingers, refusing to let the Serbian leave his side. “I will murder you.”

“Is that a challenge?” Vuka’s brow cocked, a teasing yet smug look spread across roguish features. Vincent groaned and buried his face into the bed.

“Fuck you.”

Vuka chuckled. “You need to fuck something my friend.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe if you ask nicely and buy me a drink, I’d say yes.” Vuka’s humor only grew when Vincent scowled at him over the rim of the bed.

“Get dressed. I’ll take you to hospital. See Doktore Leech.” Vincent was mortified at the first thought that crossed his mind concerning vampiric doctors and his current predicament. He hoped to all that was sacred and merciful in the world, that tonight was a night that Reid was out doing his rounds and _not_ in his office. The thought of Swansea performing the procedure didn’t ease his thoughts any more but at least he’d be less mortified when crossing paths with the doctor.

“What do we tell O’Connor?” Vincent asked as he extricated himself from his bed and made his way very carefully down the ladder at the end until he was on the floor. Every shift and brush of his clothing against his skin felt like fire brimming under the surface. He was unsteady on his feet as he tried to lessen the friction.

Vuka grabbed Vincent's jacket from the rack on the wall but the sniper missed the catch. The heavy fabric hit him in the face, causing a breathy laugh to leave the Serbian’s throat. “Ve tell him you are sick. Need bleeding. The usual. I vill take you to Doktore.”

“You just want out of patrol tonight.” Vincent scowled, shifting his coat on. He glanced at the worn trousers he was currently wearing, with the old patches in the knees and the faded streaks. He looked shabby but he really didn’t give a fuck about it. He had worse concerns than how poor he looked in a hospital full of poor and homeless folks. Besides that, these pants probably had the most room around the hips which lessened the chances of his problem being so prominent.

He had a bit of trouble getting his boots on, which Vuka helped with after shoving him back to sit on the bottom bunk. Vuka’s fingers worked quickly to tie his laces up so he didn't trip on the walk over, he braced Vincent’s foot on his knee where he knelt, to avoid the discomfort of their positions. In a few minutes, they were already heading out the door with O’Connor watching after them with a pensive expression.

  
  


The walk felt like it was far longer than necessary, prolonging Vincent’s misery as they navigated the streets by way of Vuka’s _infamous shortcut_. Vincent wanted to call bullshit on the shortcut bit, because this didn’t feel short at all. This felt like an eternity. He had to keep stopping to lean against the walls and arches that separated the boroughs, gritting through his teeth as he willed the pins and needles sensation away. His cheeks were flushed and beat red, which he swore was due to his condition and not because he was horny. The cold wind nipped at his neck and the growing heat from his sickness left him feeling uncomfortably sweaty on top of it all.

“You know vhat might help?” Vuka spoke up, breaking the silence that had fallen between them, only broken up by Vincent’s groaning, huffs and panting breaths. He felt like that only made it more awkward in the long run but Vuka didn’t comment.

“What?”

“Cold.” Vuka gestured at the snow that blanketed the streets and turned into a slurry of mud and slush from the passing wagons and cars back and forth. “Cold helps vith swelling.”

“You are not shoving a fistful of snow into my pants.” Vincent grit out through his teeth, glaring at the archer.

Vuka grinned. “Vhy not? Vhat if it vorks?”

“And what if it doesn’t and just melts and makes me look like I pissed myself?” Vincent countered.

“Then it vould be funny.”

Vincent swatted at the archer, catching him hard on the shoulder then elbowed him in the rib. Vuka stepped aside, lessening the blow as he laughed at his friend’s misery. “You’re enjoying this too much.” Vincent blurted.

“That is true.” Vuka announced unashamedly.

  
  


When they finally reached Pembroke, Vincent was already slipping his jacket off as they passed through the front gates. Vuka held the door open while the sniper was preoccupied with trying to cover his waist without drawing too much attention. Nurse Hawkins passed by with a kind smile directed at the pair, bidding them to take a seat for a moment and passing over a clipboard for Vincent to fill out his information. He plopped down onto the bench against the wall, his jacket spread over his lap while he scribbled out his usual information. Vuka folded his arms over his chest and relaxed back against the seat. His ankles crossed as he kicked the snow off the bottoms of his boots and glared menacingly at everyone that passed by.

A few minutes later, after the archer started an intense staring contest with the mental patient that thought she was a vampire, Nurse Finch came to accept the clipboard and directed both men towards one of the examination rooms. Vincent regarded her with a gentle smile and a polite nod, knowing full well that O’Connor would swat him upside the head if he was impolite, especially towards his special lass.

“Dr. Reid and Dr. Swansea are currently out of their offices at the moment I’m afraid.” Nurse Finch informed Vincent politely. “Dr. Ackroyd will be overseeing your case if that is alright?”

If there was a God out there, no matter their origin, they were a merciful one. Vincent was relieved to hear that news. Ackroyd wasn’t his favorite in any case, the man was stuffy and a bit of a prick, but at least he wasn’t someone Vincent had enough of a working relationship with. If Reid was there, he wouldn’t be able to look the leech in the eyes ever again and Swansea was a horror story waiting to happen. His condition might magically fix itself if he walked in the room which was a concerning thought.

“Yes, that’s fine.” Vincent nearly blurted, before he caught himself and lowered his voice. Nurse Finch nodded and went to the cabinet to find a gown that would fit him and handed it over with a quiet command to get changed. Vincent obliged once the door was shut and started undressing with his back turned towards Vuka.

The archer stood by and just accepted the clothing handed to him which he neatly folded and set on the chair beside the examination table. His boots were set beneath the chair, tucked out of the way. Vincent shimmied the gown on and slid back up onto the examination table, painfully aware that the gown didn’t do him any justice in hiding his dilemma. He looked towards Vuka who chuckled and handed him his coat back to cover his lap with.

Several minutes went by, agonizingly slow as they waited for the knock on the door as both Dr. Ackroyd and Nurse Finch returned to address Vincent’s current condition. Vuka stood by the wall, just out of their way but within line of sight for Vincent, his smile barely concealing his amusement. But at least it wasn’t O’Connor.

He removed his coat while the doctor inspected his situation and relayed his directions to the nurse. “Nurse Finch is going to handle the procedure if you don’t mind, Mr. Bonner.” He informed in that calculated way that he felt was indifferent towards his situation. Which was a blessing at least. This whole ordeal was becoming a circus and he didn’t like being the center of attention.

It was even more worrisome, the fact O’Connor may find out it was his girl that tended to his problem. It was hard not to make that sound any less worse than it already was. But his other options came in the form of Nurse Branagan and that was about as bad as asking Swansea to do it. He’d bite the bullet and take the knife before he resorted to them.

He covered his hands over his face as he laid back on the table and refused to meet either Vuka or Nurse Finch's gazes. The door had shut, punctuating Dr. Ackroyd's absence as he tended to more important matters that needed his immediate attention. Vuka lingered closer to the table while he perused the tools and instruments Nurse Finch had laid out on the stand beside her. There was a syringe, antiseptics and bandages, along with a metal basin and a bowl of clean water with a rag.

Vuka raised a brow as he watched, glancing away when Vincent grabbed at his forearm when the nurse's cold hands touched his skin. He felt Vuka's hand overlap his in a firm pat and a squeeze. Vincent gazed up at his companion and bit his lip, dreading what was to come. He didn't mind it when he was shot in the back. The pain was there and it was horrible, but he could ignore it with time. The dull ache returned, nestled between his shoulder blades, snug against his spine. It didn't bother him, the burning pain when he laid a knife into his own skin to lure leeches in on hunts. It was an old pain, worn out and repeated until the nerves had grown accustomed to its presence. He had grown numb to the sensation. Some days, he even liked it. It made him feel alive, reminded him that he still walked the earth and drew life with every breath.

But this? No amount of pseudo psycho nonsense and trickery could make him forget that Nurse Finch was about to stick what he assumed was going to be a very sizable needle in a place that was already far too sensitive to _air_ brushing against it, let alone physical contact. He was mortified. He could barely look Vuka in the eye, and honestly, he only did when the puzzlement on the archer's face drew his attention.

"Vhat happened to your dick?" Vuka blurted.

Vincent couldn't stop the nervous laugh that bubbled up in his throat. It was strained. "What do you mean what happened? I already told you!" He snapped.

Vuka shook his head. "No. It's missing a piece."

_'What?'_ Vincent was confused now. He sat up to look down at himself and frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about Vuka? It's always been like that." Now he was concerned. Either his friend was crazy, or, the paranoid part of him was beginning to think he was malformed and he was just finding this out now. What a fucked up day that would make it.

"There." Vuka pointed very rudely at the tip of Vincent's dick. "No hood."

"Hood?" Vincent echoed, even more confused now before it finally clicked. "Fuck, you mean- _oh!_ I'm circumcised."

"Vhat? They took your hood?" Vuka blanched.

"I was a baby. Not like I had a say." Vincent grumbled, wincing sharply as the cold antiseptic touched his skin as Nurse Finch found the vein she was looking for. He grabbed a hold of Vuka's hand, clutching to his arm tightly in apprehension. Vuka's hands overlapped Vincent's as he squeezed them in solidarity.

"It's okay. Big baby."

"Fuck yo- _aahhhh_ !" Vincent shouted when the needle pierced his skin and he jerked. "Bloody hell in a handbasket on mid _fucking_ July!!" Vincent shouted rather loudly as Nurse Finch hummed.

"If it makes you feel better, Mr. Bonner, I've handled worse cases. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Nurse Finch spoke, reassuring the sniper as she continued to explain her time on the battlefield and the frequency of men who end up with shrapnel wounds around the thigh and buttocks region. One man lost his genitalia to a bullet, it nicked the scrotum as it passed between the inside of his thigh.

"If it had been higher, it would have struck an artery and he would have bled to death." She kindly informed.

"Not to be crude, Nurse, but I think losing my… _genitalia_ would warrant wanting to eat a bullet." Vincent scowled at the ceiling, refusing to meet either Vuka's or Nurse Finch's gaze.

She appeared to want to speak, but the knock that came at the door silenced her. The door opened after a moment, with a familiar pair of pale blue eyes peering through the gap. Dr. Reid was dressed in his white lab coat as he slipped into the room.

"Excuse the intrusion, but I wanted to see how Mr. Bonner was doing." He spoke politely, clicking the door shut behind him as he approached the examination table. Nurse Finch was just removing the syringe when Dr.Reid stepped closer to examine the situation. Vincent glanced down the length of his belly to see how it looked. It was still a swollen dark color where the blood had rested there for too long.

"You may need to draw another. The swelling isn't going down." Jonathan explained before meeting Vincent's gaze. "Mr. Bonner?"

"Yeah?" 

"I'm going to need to prepare a second line to insert into your arm. I'm afraid this little bit won't abait your condition and it could return over the next few days." Dr. Reid explained formally, gesturing towards the first syringe Nurse Finch held. The clinical air made Vincent forget that the man before him was a vampire. Potentially one of the strongest Priwen has ever faced before. But for now, he was just the cautious and compassionate Dr. Reid who always put the well being of his patients first.

Vincent nodded sullenly and held out his left arm for the doctor to take hold of. Jonathan offered a gentle smile, pausing to draw his index finger along his arm until he found a prominent vein to work with. Vincent stared back up at the ceiling, hissing through his teeth when Nurse Finch inserted a second needle into his vein. He swallowed down the groan that bubbled in his throat.

Before long, Jonathan had set up a line in his arm, drawing blood into a vessel. Nurse Finch slipped out of the room once she finished cleaning up her equipment, returning moments later with an ice pack wrapped in a towel that she set in his lap. The cold helped ease the dull ache in his groin, which he was appreciative of. She brought a pillow to tuck under his head so he could sit up for the remainder of his procedure before being relieved by Dr. Reid.

Vuka shifted by his side like a watchful sentinel, his gaze gliding from Vincent to Jonathan. Vincent realized he hadn't yet let go of Vuka's arm and only slowly retracted his grip and adjusted to get more comfortable.

"I thought you were out of your office for the evening." Vincent started, searching for quiet conversation to absolve the semi awkward silence that stretched between the three of them. Jonathan had been occupying himself by examining the blood removed from Vincent's veins. It wasn't anything new. He was aware that, with time, his condition would worsen. He expected the good doctor had shared the same concern.

"I was but only for an hour. I needed to go retrieve a shipment of medicine for the hospital." Jonathan informed him cooly, Vincent noticed he was partially distracted. When he turned towards the pair, he had a worried look in those pale eyes. "Mr. Bonner, I'm afraid I'm going to have to request you increase the frequency of your visits."

Vincent's mouth went dry, his gaze dropped to the needle in his arm, the thicker darker blood that filled the tube and slid like molasses down towards the vessel. "How often?" He finally asked after a minute.

"Your current regiment is two pints of blood every two weeks. I think it would be more beneficial for three pints every week." Dr. Reid informed. "Your body has drastically increased its productivity but I'm afraid it wasn't until now that it was noticed. You've been bleeding yourself outside of the hospital." It wasn't a question, Vincent knew that. The fresh wounds on the exteriors of his arms were proof enough as is. "It had compromised previous diagnoses so we didn't catch it until now."

Vincent nodded in confirmation, a shallow admission. He wouldn't lie. He felt sick to his stomach. "So three visits then?" He finally asked.

"Two should be sufficient. They can be broken up easier." Jonathan approached the table and watched him with those Ekon eyes. Eyes that could see the truth without the need of a microscope or educated guesses. He wondered if Reid could _smell_ the sickness and how bad it was getting. If he could see it thickening in his veins. If he could hear how hard his heart worked each day, how he struggled to breath some nights. How he got headaches so bad he couldn't see straight. Or when he'd wake up in pools of his own blood, sticky and acrid, clinging to his tongue and the back of his throat all night as he tried to ignore the fact his sickness was killing him faster and faster with each passing day.

Vincent didn't care. At least he told himself that day in and day out for so long, he started to believe it. But now, it made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it. He dared a look towards Vuka, the archer's fingers reached for Vincent's hand to console him upon hearing the news. Vincent didn't have the heart to tell him the truth and now it was all laid out in the open. He couldn't bring himself to admit that when he thinks of dying, how his first thoughts are always of Vuka and if he'll be alright when he's gone.

Or the fact he cries when he's alone, silent tears sliding down his face as he comes to terms with what he'll be leaving behind. He had made peace with death, that is true. He isn't afraid of the Reaper when he comes. It's life that he hasn't made peace with. It's the people he'll be leaving behind. It's the ones who will mourn him when they stand above his grave. It's selfish to say he's content with it. Vincent knows that, but he can't bear the thought of those who will feel the worst of the pain when he passes.

Vincent offered a bitter smile to the doctor as he nodded. "Alright. Two visits a week isn't so bad." He tried for a laugh but it came out dry. "As long as I don't need to take another needle down there." His head bobbed in direction.

Vuka gave a huff of a laugh. Jonathan's smile was weak, a strained effort offered in sympathy to the man. Vincent appreciated the attempt at least.

The pair of guards settled into idle conversation for the remainder of the visit. Jonathan flitted between analyzing Vincent's blood, discussing his current symptoms with him and talking over alternatives to treatment, which most of them relied on him leaving Priwen. Vincent shot every one of them down, despite the good doctor's efforts. When they finished, Jonathan took the now melted ice pack from Vincent, prescribed him an aspirin for his pain and swelling. Vuka helped him get dressed, mindful of the bandages and soreness in both his arm and his groin, before they were off. 

Vincent stopped long enough to sign out at the reception desk, was given a slip of paper by Jonathan with a reminder to visit in two days, and was slipped a small box of cookies by Nurse Finch for the boys to take with them. The sniper wasn't looking forward to the long quiet walk home, but he didn't mind the warm arm that draped over his shoulders, keeping him tucked close against Vuka's side. When Vincent offered a questioning glance, he was met with the low rumbled out. _"Leech bait."_ In his ear as an answer. Vincent decided to leave it at that.


	15. Sweets and Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vuka adopts old ladies as grandparents and Vincent loves hard candy.
> 
> This is before chapter 20 of Captiv(ation)

"I'm about to spend my entire allowance on candy, don't judge me." Vincent preened as he made his way down the messy street side, avoiding icy patches along the way. He had a newfound pep in his step as he shoved his hands into his front pockets to ward off the chill. It was still daylight hours but you wouldn’t know it through the thick blanket of clouds that loomed over the city. A storm was rolling in later in the night, the dockers and fish-wives had been chattering on, that it was going to be a big one. Vincent didn’t care. He was going to be prepared, stocking up on his emergency supplies. Yes, he counts ridiculous amounts of sugar as an emergency supply, because if he’s going to be forced to run patrols in a snowstorm, he will do so while bouncing off the walls.

“That is vhat you alvays do.” Vuka called as he watched Vincent strut around like an excited peacock. His scarf was pulled up over his mouth to keep the cold away, but he was well aware that the sniper could hear him.

“Don’t forget, O’Connor wanted something as well.”

“And Mackenzie.” Vuka interjected as he trailed behind Vincent. Vincent frowned over his shoulder at Vuka. “Vhat?”

“You mean McKinley?” He corrected.

Vuka sighed. “The baby vanted something to suck on.”

“That sounds worse than it should be.” Vincent chimed with a light bark of laughter.

“Mind in gutter. All the time.” Vuka shoved him forward to keep walking. The streets of Whitechapel were far from empty at this time of day. Patrons rushed in and out of the tiny shops that remained open, trying to purchase last minute necessities before the storm. They swerved through the crowd of mothers with their children, and elderly men with their canes, daring the weather to stop them even now. Packages, parcels and baskets of goods passed in and out, some more festive with the coming holiday, others were plain and simple. Vuka stopped outside of a butcher with a thoughtful expression towards the hanging hogs in the window. 

Vincent paused at his side, leaning against his shoulder as he hummed. “Sure would beat eating fish.” It was just a thought, but buying a whole hog would be more than just his allowance for the month.

Vuka rolled his eyes. “So does Vodka.” he continued on, following the chattering sniper through the streets as he all but bounced from place to place, his energy was boundless. Vuka was amused at the behavior, like a small child on Christmas.

The light that danced in his eyes was a refreshing sight. The soft humming that filtered from his throat when he caught wind of a Christmas carol being sung on the steps of St Mary’s Church. Children squealed and raced about, tossing snowballs back and forth at one another. It was strange, seeing the world so awake and alive. Seeing exactly what it was, Priwen protected. Who it was they fought to defend in this silent war of theirs.

It was a tiny shop tucked between two other closed buildings, already boarded up and previously vandalized by looters and gang members during the Summer. Easily missed if you weren’t looking close enough, along the edge of Whitechapel where it balances along the quarantine line of the West End. The windows were dark and dusty, stained from age with the faded golden lettering of **_BERNHARDT CANDY_ ** on the facade. Vincent opened the door for Vuka, ushering him in quickly as the wind picked up and snapped against his coat. They stomped their boots on the welcome mat, a little brass bell rang loudly over their heads.

A dark haired old woman peeked over the clean glass counters, polished wood recently scrubbed. The smell of sweeteners and warm chocolate permeated the air, as Vincent breathed in deeply. Tired brown eyes met his, just as soft as the chocolates that filled the cases. Strong hands worked the tough taffy through wrinkled fingers, stained different colors from the flavors added to it. She molded it over the surface and wound it up into a long serpentine roll. Using a cutting tool, she made quick work of skillfully dissecting it into dozens of evenly sized pieces.

“Good evening, Vinnie! How have you been?” She called as she worked, her shoulders hunched over the table as her fingers made magic into tasty confectioners. Vincent grinned, a wide toothy smile as he perused her supplies. Lollipops, hard candies, sugar drops, taffy, chocolates, fudge, and many more. His teeth already ached with sweet anticipation.

“I’m doing great Aggie.” He leaned against the counter as he reached for Vuka, snatching onto his coat to drag him over towards the counter where she could better see the pair in the bright lights of her shop. “I brought a friend.”

“A friend?” She asked, tilting her head up. The dark hair was lined with silvery streaks through her neatly kept braids. Only a few small strands slipped free around her brow, appearing too short to be wrangled into compliance. Her eyes were surrounded by dark bags from the hardships she faced, the long hours of trying to keep a tiny business open, especially given her German status. “Hello, young man!” She stepped away from the worktable until only the counter separated her from the pair, as she dusted her hands off on her stained white apron. 

“Vukasin, this is Mrs. Agda Bernhardt. Aggie, this is Vukasin Babic.” Vincent introduced, one arm snaked around Vuka’s broad shoulders as he casually grinned between the pair.

“Guten Tag, Gnädige Frau.” The German words sounded twisted and strange from Vukasin’s Serbian accent. Though, Vincent was genuinely surprised that his friend could speak it. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Since when could you speak German?” Vincent blurted as Agda smiled politely at Vukasin.

“Little bit.” He held his hand up to punctuate just how _little._ It was a small handful of basic words in greeting and appreciative gestures. And maybe a few dirty words and phrases, but Vukasin was a gentleman who was well aware of how inappropriate it would be to say in front of a lady. His bako would rise from the grave and march the rest of the way to England just to beat his ass. He was certain of that.

“Color me impressed.” Vincent chuckled and nudged him with his shoulder. “Aggie, show us what you got! I’m tempted to buy the place out.” Vincent blurted, like a child already riding a sugar high.

Agda let out a hearty laugh and folded her arms over her chest as she eyed him up and down. “Did Mr. O’Connor send a request?”

“Oh, yeah.” Vincent shoved his hand into his pocket and fumbled with the folded up paper, attempting to smooth it out so he could read O’Connor’s fancier handwriting. He scrunched his face up and squinted at it as Agda swiped it from his grasp with a teasing smile. A reflection of the energetic young woman she once was before the war brought troubles to her front steps.

“Butterscotch, Cinnamon and Caramel.” She read out, turning to face the baskets and drawers behind the counter that kept her stock. She tucked the paper into the front pocket of her apron as she pulled a paper sack out of the cabinet and started filling each individually.

Vincent pouted, knowing well that the note he handed to Agda was a directive by Beamard that he may or may not regret by the end of the night. Since he informed O’Connor of the presence of the candy shop, the older Irishman had grown wise to where Vincent’s allowance was magically going every payday.

He sighed and leaned against the counter as he spoke to Vuka, watching closely as the Serbian inspected the jars and glass cases that lined the front of the shop enticing curious passersby to peek inside for a tasty morsel to brighten their days. It was cheaper and far better in Vincent’s opinion, than the expensive shops in the West End.

“Mrs. Bernhardt’s father used to own this shop.” He explained. “It’s been around a long time.”

“Sixty-seven years.” Agda interjected as she approached the counter with three paper bags neatly folded and clipped shut. She set them aside next to the cash register and leaned her arms against the counter, neatly folded. “My Papa had brought us over in 1847. I was just a baby at the time. My Mama was just a girl herself still.” Her eyes softened with something old and longing. A painful yearning at the mention of her family. “He built this when I was five years old and taught me everything he and Mama knew about making candy.” She gestured proudly at the shop.

She wrinkled her nose up. “It was once a cobbler's workshop. Papa worked hard to make it a candy shop.”

“I’m glad he did.” Vincent smiled softly. “The best candy I’ve ever had. Both in Britain and in France.” She chuckled at him and shook her head.

“If you think flattery will butter me up Vinnie, you should know better by now. Mr. O’Connor was _very_ specific.” She smiled, a truly wicked smile in his direction.

Vincent huffed. “It was worth a try. You know my usual, Aggie.” He patted Vuka on the shoulder. “So what’ll you have? Eh, Vuka?”

"Do you have anything Baltic?" Vuka asked after a long thoughtful silence.

"Afraid not." Aggie smiled apologetically.

"Oh well. How about peppermint?" His gaze swept the front of the shelves.

Agda nodded, turning sharply towards the back cabinets. She opened a drawer and plucked several samples out, returning to offer them to Vukasin. "Here, try these."

"If you don't like them, I'll eat them." Vincent offered helpfully. Agda swatted him over the counter. "Ow! I will behave, I promise."

They spent nearly twenty minutes taste-testing candy, talking about different flavors and discussing what Agda had made on hand. By the end of the visit, Vincent had his bag of taffy, lemon and cherry hard candies, a box of assorted fudge and another box of chocolate blocks. Vukasin had settled on peppermint hard candies, peppermint sticks, two boxes of assorted chocolates with a few French inspired choices and some chewy caramels for Vincent. Agda sorted them into two large bags, clearly labeled for ease. They paid, said their gracious goodbyes and headed on their way. 

Vuka was adamant to backtrack a bit to find Camellia's flower shop where he stopped in to buy a bouquet. Vincent stood by the door, holding their bags while Vuka tried to explain what he was searching for. The pair came to an understanding when Camellia returned with a vibrant collection of Christmas Roses in shades of whites, pinks, violets and yellows. She wrapped them up to protect them from the harsh wind while the pair continued their way across the borough and crossed into the West End with their goods.

"How do ve get inside?" Vuka asked as they grew closer to the Reid residence. They hadn't exactly talked it out extensively. Their plan was prematurely formed and lacked the meat to be carried out to the end. Vincent waved dismissively, unperturbed.

"I got this." 

"That does not encourage confidence, Vinnie."

"Rude." Vincent scoffed and sped up along the sidewalk. He tiptoed up the steps, carefully avoiding the slippery spots of ice that the shovel couldn't quite scrape off. He knocked quick and firm before he stepped away and politely waited.

A few minutes went by when Vincent was about to knock again. The door clicked open, revealing the wary glance of the butler.

Vincent put on his best Sunday smile as he greeted. "Good evening sir! We're friends of Dr. Jonathan Reid." Vincent gestured with a bob towards Vuka who was still holding the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. He smiled, a small offering that for once didn't look so menacing. "We heard about what happened to his sister, and we wanted to offer our condolences to Mrs.Reid."

"You know Mister Jonathan?"

"From the war, sir." Vincent specified with a sincere nod. "We brought something for his mother, hoping to cheer her up."

"Please, come in. My apologies." The butler held the door open for the men, ushering them in out of the cold. Vincent smiled and ducked his head with a nod of appreciate. Vuka followed right behind as they kicked the snow from their boots on the welcome rug and removed their coats.

"My name is Avery Cork. I have served the Reid family for many years." Avery explained as he hung their jackets up and directed them to leave their things on the side table, that which they didn't immediately need.

Vincent dug out the box of chocolates for Mrs. Reid before they followed Avery to the parlor where Emelyne Reid was seated. The hearth crackled with an inviting fire as she sat, smuggled into the plush cushions of the sofa with a knitted blanket draped over her lap. She looked tired, even more so than the night they saw her in the Stonebridge cemetery.

She met them with a smile, a flicker of recognition in her eyes as Avery introduced them. "These are friends of Mister Jonathan's, madam."

"Vincent Bonner." Vinny introduced as they lingered just inside the doorway.

Vuka shuffled closer as he spoke. "Vukasin Babic, Madame" He dropped gracefully to kneel before her, holding out the bouquet of Christmas flowers. Emelyne smiled warmly as she accepted the flowers, delicate fingers brushing over the soft smooth petals in breathless admiration.

"Oh my, these are beautiful. Avery, can you find a vase for these?" She called, sitting up as she gently cradled the bouquet. Vuka stood up and pecked a kiss to her cheek, stepping away with the tiniest flush on his face that Vincent swore made him look like a bashful school boy.

"Right away Madam. Would you like some tea as well?"

"Oh, yes please. Thank you Avery." She patted the sofa beside her. "Come, sit down."

Vuka sat down beside her, his broad frame looked large beside her petite silhouette. He sat angled so he could better converse with her, while Vincent placed the box of chocolates on the table beside her. "These are for you as well, Mrs. Reid."

"Thank you, Mr. Bonner was it?"

"Yes ma'am. But, you can call me Vincent." He settled into the armchair across from Vuka and crossed his legs at the knee. It felt proper but he thought it made him look foolish. The smirk tugging at the corner of Vuka's mouth made him more paranoid as he shot him a look. Sitting normally made him feel like a school boy in the large luxurious chair.

"You know my Jonathan?" She asked after a moment, her pale blue eyes dropped to examine the flowers, pausing to breathe in the soft fragrance that clung to their petals, the floral aroma mingling with the bite of winter's wind. 

"Yes ma'am." Vincent started. "From the war." He added. "He saved my life." Something nagged at him as he said those words. His brows furrowed as Mrs. Reid continued to faun over the flowers. It was a blurry memory that tickled along his thoughts, but one he recalled nonetheless. _Holy shit!_

Vincent felt the flush of heat rush to his cheeks when he realized, that Dr. Jonathan Reid of Pembroke Hospital may have also been the surgeon that extracted the bullet from his back. It was sketchy, bits and pieces of memory and he was certain Reid didn't have his beard back then. A fresh shaved look that added a baby faced look to the hardened professional. But his eyes were the same, focused and determined as he barked directions at the staff and tried to stem the blood pooling onto the table from his wounds. He had the same broken nose as well, though he remembered it being fresher at the time. Still pink and swollen with the scarring under his eye an ugly scab against pale skin in the dim lighting of the tents.

_Fuck!_ He thought, shifting uncomfortably in place as he directed his attention back towards Mrs. Reid. Who was in the middle of charming Vuka with kind words. 

She cupped his cheek as she preened. "You have such pretty eyes Mr.Babic. Surely the lady that fancies you would be a lucky woman." She teased in that way that all mothers and grandmothers do to the younger generations. Vuka's cheeks burned hotly as he shook his head. 

"I do not have a voman in my life." He admitted. "And please, call me Vukasin."

She sighed. "Neither does my Jonathan. It's such a shame. You're both so handsome. You'd have such adorable children. Like my Mary, her sweet little boy."

The devilish smile that spread on Vincent's face could not be stopped. "Really? All those pretty nurses he works with? Surely he has someone to bring home to his mother."

"You'd think so." She said wistfully. "I think he's just so wrapped up in his work. He was always such a compassionate little boy. Always putting others before himself. Aubrey and I should have seen it coming when he told us he wanted to be a doctor." She giggled, an excited girlish sound. "He was so nervous to tell us."

Avery returned, a tray of tea in hand with a crystal vase balancing carefully on the end. He set it on the table and set a saucer before each of them. The case was already filled with water as he took the bouquet and unwrapped the protective covering, carefully slotting the flowers into an eye catching arrangement. He then moved it to the side table by Emelyne's elbow before proceeding to pour their tea.

All the while, Emelyne continued her gossip. Her eyes sparked with delight as she grew more animated, a resemblance of the spriteful youth she once was full of wistful fantasies and inspired ideals. Vincent quickly discovered that the polite Mrs. Reid was a sultry romantic and love was a tune she played like a divine. She had quite the plethora of tales to tell of her and Aubrey's trips to France, the antics of her children and their ups and downs in romance, the teasing commentary on their troubles in their youth and the cringeworthy embarrassing stories.

The two men sipped their tea and listened with bated breath, drinking in every morsel of each story, laughing and smiling along. Eventually the stories faded, Avery offered them a light snack and Mrs. Reid turned her line of questioning towards the pair. Her eyes set determinedly to snuff out the delicious gossip about her beloved son's friends. If she were younger, she could probably give Scotland Yard a run for their money in how thorough her skills of persuasion and deduction were.

"What do you do for a living?" She inquired as she sipped at her second cup of tea.

"Docker." Vuka spoke up just as Vincent said. "Construction."

"Odd jobs." Vincent added quickly. "It's hard to find work these days since we got back from the war."

"What did you do before the war?" Emelyne asked softly, gently setting her tea cup down on the table. The porcelain rattled and clanked from her trembling hands.

"I worked on my Uncle's farm. He raised hunting hounds and sheep." Vincent folded his hands in his lap and he leaned forward and rested on his elbows. "He passed away while I was serving and my Aunt moved up to Scotland with her sister. Vuka here was a…"

"Huntsman." He supplied helpfully. "Archery." Vuka held up his hands to mimic using his bow.

"Not much space for shooting arrows in London though." Vincent teased.

"I make it vork."

"You almost shot me in the a- er, buttocks." Vincent caught himself, minding his words in front of the lady. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as she laughed.

Vuka waved dismissively as he smiled. "I mistook you for a pin cushion."

"How?"

"It vas an easy mistake from behind." Vuka jabbed, earning a huff from Vincent who scowled at him. Mrs. Reid barked out a laugh that was sudden and fell into a fit of giggles.

"My apologies!" She held a hand over her breast as she stifled her sounds. Shaking her head dismissively, trying to school her expression.

Vincent stood up and bowed deeply and with gusto. "It is always an honor to make a brilliant lady such as yourself, laugh." He said with reverence. His dark curls bounced as he offered a charming smile. 

Vuka on the other hand, rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Fool."

"And proud." Vincent said quietly.

The evening carried on accordingly as the two men continued their banter, teasing commentary and illustrious chivalry, making it their goal to make the kind Lady Emelyne Reid laugh and smile for as long as physically possible. They told stories that ran nearly vulgar, politely censored around the worst details and made into mockery, just skimming by as appropriate. Some from the war, some from their early lives and some from the time after they returned. Vuka and Mrs. Reid discussed recipes and their passion for cooking and good food.

Vincent perused the parlor, taking the time to inspect the pictures of Jonathan and Mary Reid that lined the mantle and were hung on the walls. It was hard to believe the grinning carefree faces in the black and white images were the same gloomy sullen monsters that fought in the cemetery. He would pause every now and then, and ask questions about the photos. Emelyne would regale them with another story that bled life into her withered face and slowly revived her from her grief.

Her mind would still go from time to time. She would forget things but it was minor. The more they talked, the more they reminisced, the easier it came. Vincent returned to his seat and caught a glimpse of Avery standing just outside the door, listening with hopeful eyes as he spied on his ward. Vincent was sympathetic to how he must feel, taking care of a broken old woman that was but a shell of her former self. Who thought her husband was still alive, and would stop and talk about her dead daughter and her dead family coming over one evening for dinner. Who regarded her son, the only living family that remained, as being another ghost like the rest. 

It was bittersweet. A heart wrenching sight that tore at both men. 

By the time they left, they felt better for having come and promised both Avery and Mrs. Reid, that one day they will return and do it all again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The note that O'Connor wrote was to ensure Vincent didnt spend his entire pay on just candy. 
> 
> And also to order candy for himself (cinnamon), McCullum (butterscotch) and McKinley (caramel).
> 
> Vincent has known Agda for years and treats her like a beloved Aunt or Grandmother, hence why he calls her Aggie.
> 
> She feeds his wicked sweet tooth.
> 
> Yes, Vincent just remembered who the doctor was that saved his life after he'd been shot. It was Jonathan, but Jonathan doesn't remember him. A lot of men with bullet holes passed through his hands, so Vincent wouldn't immediately stand out.


	16. Christmas With Priwen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas with Priwen
> 
> This is after the events of Chapter 21 of Captivation
> 
> Also, have a playlist I made just for Priwen
> 
> I wrote the dancing part to the song Danza Del Osos on the playlist.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1PqMqjVhD63uilDEtbcWZE?si=QJ9zHGasS62zmy7sq1_J2w

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the holiday season would come with so much work to do. O’Connor smiled broadly as he drove one of the Priwen trucks from Whitechapel towards the hospital. The majority of the men had accompanied McCullum to St. Mary’s Church for midnight Mass, the rest scattered to spend the holidays with distant relatives, family friends, neighbors, old war mates or local religious gatherings. He was aware that Vukasin had found a small group of Serbian refugees to attend an in house service with. A few of the men who weren’t of the religious variety had wandered off towards The Turquoise Turtle to drown their night in strong drink and other forms of merriment.

He bounced around the cab of the truck as he navigated the narrow streets and sharp corners caused by the abundance of drifts from the recent storms but had safely arrived on time. The small petite figure waved him down by the back door of the hospital as he rolled to a stop. Miss Vinke smiled up at him as she approached the driver’s side door and spotted the Irishman behind the wheel.

Francach was riding in the passenger seat, tucked into his carrier box with his favorite scarf stuffed inside for additional warmth. She leaned inside to greet the little rat with gentle words before they quickly got to work. O’Connor was surprised to find that the reason for the requested vehicle came in the form of around twenty recycled medical boxes, all wrapped shut and a few had been marked with names. Bonner, Babic, McCullum, O’Connor and even a small one for Francach, was carefully stored first. Each had a substantial weight to them, which piqued his interest as he inquired about the contents.

“What’s inside?” He asked as he stacked the boxes into the bed of the truck and ensured they were strapped down and wouldn’t slide around. He shoved the tailgate up and pulled the tarp flaps closed to protect it from the harsh weather that kicked up in spurts.

“That would ruin the surprise, Beamard.” She teased gently, cupping his cheek with slender fingers as she pecked a kiss to his cheek. “Remember, you can’t open it until the morning.”

“Hm…” He rumbled lowly. “What about if Francach opens mine for me? I’m technically not opening it.”

“Cute but not cute enough.” She teased. “Behave.”

“Yes Miss Vinke.” He purred into her ear before wrapping strong arms around her tiny figure, scooping her up into a hug and a twirl. “You’re coming to the dinner, right?”

“Of course.” She chimed, bracing her gloved hands against his shoulders as she gazed down at him. Her cherry red lips tipped up into a grin. “Save me a dance?”

“Of course.” He spoke proudly as he gently set her back down, steadying her so she didn’t slip on the cold earth. The warm light from the hospital beamed through the ajar doorway. The hustle and bustle of the staff could be heard as they chattered with more energy than usual. “You’re busy.”

“The Administrator and the hospital’s anonymous benefactor put a meal on for the patients and staff.” She informed. “It gave a boost in morale.”

“Good food tends to do that.” He chuckled. “I hope to say the same for the lads tomorrow.” The night was still early but O’Connor had a limited window to get back to Priwen before the boys returned from their outing. He pecked her another kiss goodbye and climbed back up into the truck, doing a quick loop around Pembroke before riding the uneven roads back to Whitechapel.

It took a stupid amount of time to haul all of those boxes into the building, up the stairs to the second floor and then attempting to fit them _all_ into his and Francach’s tiny shared room. It was easy enough compared to the others when he figured he was the only one in Priwen without a proper bed. Just a couple of mattresses tossed on the floor, a cabinet for his important items and a trunk for his clothes and weapons. He has a couple shelves hung up but those didn’t get in the way much. Francach’s nook was on the cabinet, where his box would rest when they bedded down for the night.

He set the labeled boxes aside where he could easily reach them, including his and Francach’s, then maneuvered the tiny narrow space between his bed and the door. He had just parked the truck back in the alley behind their barracks, locking the gate behind himself when he heard the shouts and raucous noise of a dozen or so men getting rowdy on the walk back. McCullum’s voice could be heard as he tried to quell the noise and rein their vulgar banter in.

“For Christ's sakes lads, you just left a church.” The Irishman could be heard hollering at the group.

“That’s not pretty language either, Mack!” Johnson shouted back with a bark of laughter from the boys. O’Connor rolled his eyes as he went to greet them at the gates by the courtyard and scolded them to stomp their boots off at the entryway. He just finished cleaning the floors all afternoon. He didn’t need them rushing in like mangy mutts getting mud all over the place. He got his fair share of rolled eyes and grumbling as they filed in one at a time, following orders as they mumbled.

“Yes Da.”

“Will do Da.”

“When’s mum coming home?”

O’Connor swatted Vinnie in the back of the head for the additional lip. “Tomorrow. She has to work a shift tonight.”

“Ya do anything special for your lass?” McCullum asked quietly. O’Connor offered a knowing smile and a nod. McCullum waited, expecting an answer but O’Connor continued inside. “Alright, fine. Keep yer secrets.”

  
  


The men turned in early for the night after supper and sat around the fire chatting. Vincent and Vukasin wandered off to some mischief or another, which followed later on with the pair wrestling in the living room. The furniture was shoved into varying directions as they tossed each other around. Johnson, McKinley and Mackintosh encouraged the whole fiasco, which eventually led out into the courtyard where they both landed in a heap of snow. They rolled around, bit, scrapped and threw punches until they were both breathless, soaking wet and bleeding in varying locations. Vincent wasn’t much of a surprise but he managed to get a few good shots on Vukasin. McCullum stepped in to pry the men apart, as O’Connor scruffed Vincent by the back of his bloodstained sweater. McCullum had Vukasin dragged back by his shoulders and shoved him towards the front door.

“Go sit the fuck down.” He ordered but it was light hearted, full of mirth and amusement. Both men plopped onto the couch side by side, leaning against each other’s sides and grinning like children that got dragged from a mud puddle before they had all their fun. O’Connor shook his head as he retrieved the first aid kit from the kitchen cabinet.

McKinley helped, crouched in front of Vukasin.

“Vhy do I get the baby?” He huffed, scowling over at O’Connor.

“Cause you bitch too much.” Vinnie chuckled. The air left his chest when Vukasin elbowed him in the side.

“If you keep acting like rascals, you won’t be getting any presents tomorrow.” O’Connor chided.

“Since when do we get presents?” Vincent blurted, eyes narrowed on O’Connor. “If it's coal, I’m gonna be very displeased with you.”

“It vill probably be rat poop. Francach sends his love to your pillow.”

The bickering didn’t cease but nobody expected anything different from the rowdy pair. They ushered the group off to their rooms, shoving the doors shut behind them as they turned in for the night. Given the holiday, they earned a free pass from patrols. All of the Priwen outposts were exempt from their duties for the night, as the entirety of London relished in the peace of the season.

O’Connor was the last to turn in for the evening, even after McCullum headed for his office for the night. The lights went out and the headquarters had gone dark and silent. Like the little mischievous mice they were tucked snug in their burrows, O’Connor crept through the building like the stealthiest bear, cursing the creaky boards as he moved, placing the boxes outside each room. For the ones not already labeled, he placed names on them as he stacked them outside of each room for the men to find when they woke up. McCullum’s was tucked against the door of his office so he’d see the shadow against the crack. Vincent and Vukasin’s were stacked up on top of each other. 

Until the only boxes that remained were Francach and Beamard’s, he maintained his promise to Miss Vinke and swore to be a good boy. He set the box aside as he spoke kindly to Francach, his little partner in crime. “Not for you yet.” He assured. “You have to wait like the rest of the lads.”

The tiny squeaks of protest were met with a stern look from O’Connor as he tucked the tiny rat into his box for the night, just before the first rays of dawn crested over the horizon and washed golden light against their courtyard. The snow sparkled in the light as it bathed a forgiving Christmas morning.

  
  
  


Needless to say, if the building was rowdy before, the noise level had escalated greatly when the men began to stir from their beds and found the boxes on their doorsteps. Within each box was a patchwork quilt, a pair of woolen socks and a box of peanut butter cookies. O’Connor’s specifically, came in patterns of rich purple florals, blue plaid, and dove grey, a pair of grey woolen socks, cookies and a book of Irish poetry. Neatly scrawled in the front cover were the words; 

_Met al mijn liefde, vrolijk kerstfeest. Gertrude._

Francach had a rat sized blanket made of the rich purple floral patterns, as well as some biscuits and nuts to snack on. The little devil already had a few nuts for breakfast. O’Connor let him indulge for the special occasion before he gathered them up and headed downstairs to start the day.

O’Connor was sitting by the kitchen table where he made a kettle of tea and spotted their illustrious leader with the barely concealed smile playing pleasantly on his face. McCullum practically strutted into the room while the men ran about the house, showing off their quilts to one another, munched on cookies despite O’Connor’s warnings to not fill up before supper, and harped each other about the usual bicker and banter. 

“Good afternoon, McCullum.” O’Connor called as he poured their leader a cup of tea. “Something good happen?”

“Given the type of boxes that arrived, I’m assuming it’s your lass’s doing?” McCullum asked, side eyeing his second in command with a suspicious glint in his eye.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t know what she was planning. I was just following orders, sir.”

“Likely story.” McCullum hummed as he accepted the tea and settled into his usual worn old chair. It creaked under his weight as he stretched his legs out under the table and watched the men mingle about. “You still coming with me to market?”

“Of course sir.” He confirmed. “I just need to clean up here and grab my coat.”

“Good. I’ll meet you by the truck in fifteen.” He finished his tea in a few quick sips and set the dishes in the sink where Mackintosh was washing dishes from breakfast.

“Mackintosh, McKinley.” O’Connor bellowed, stealing both recruits attention from opposite ends of the room.

“Yes sir?” They called in unison.

“Keep an eye on Bonner and Babic. Don’t let them leave or start mischief.” He relayed.

“Hey!” Vukasin blurted. “Vhy do the babies get to be in charge?”

“Because I can’t trust you two.” O’Connor countered.

“Yeah but like, why didn’t you tell Johnson or Hainsly or any other man in here?” Vincent protested.

“Because they have better things to do than to watch you two all day.”

“HEY!” They both blurted from where they were sprawled across the couch, steadily annoying each other as they wrestled for leg room before getting comfortable. O’Connor narrowed his eyes at the two and glared until they settled back into place. Grumbling their submission.

  
  


As true Priwen tradition dictates, when it comes to Christmas, there are several must haves. 

**Rule number one: Alcohol**.

Lots of alcohol, which was an easy fix after a quick stop by the Turtle to pick up a shipment McCullum ordered weeks ago of various types of booze for their Priwen Punch. They loaded the crates into the bed of the truck and secured them tightly in place. O'Connor drove carefully through the streets so as to not break any of their precious cargo.

  
  


**Rule number two: Sweets**

  
  


They may be a group of hardened vampire hunters, but they were also men with massive sweet tooths. It was in their blood so to speak. O'Connor hopped out of the truck this time as he parked outside of Bernhardt Candy and stepped inside to meet with Mrs. Agda Bernhardt. She pressed a kiss to his cheeks in greeting, throwing her arms around his broad shoulders as he bent down to meet her smiling face.

McCullum followed in behind him and passed the formal introduction with flying colors and a bit of pink ringing his cheeks as the elderly woman teased the hardened Hunter. She brought out box after box of her assorted candies for the men to add to their treasure trove of goodies piling up in the back of the truck.

  
  


**Rule number three: Go Whole Hog**

  
  


In true Priwen style, they go hard or go home. This even includes their meat of choice. While most folks stuck to the Christmas Goose or fish, Priwen was known for their pig roasts. The local butcher was a long time supporter of Priwen's tastes and had a whole cold room prepared with half a dozen hogs. McCullum paid the man with the money they had set aside all year just for this occasion, and loaded the pigs into the back of the truck.

The two men made their rounds, delivering cargo to the outposts that houses the smaller cells and clusters of Priwen guards around London, dropping off alcohol, sweets and of course, the hog, before heading back to their headquarters with the majority of their loot.

Hainsly, Johnson and Mackintosh had already prepared the pits with a roasting fire, and it took two men to heft the hogs up into place so they could slow cook for the next several hours. Vukasin and Vincent joined as they unloaded the crates and boxes of goods, sacks of potatoes and other groceries they picked up along the way for their anticipated meal. Every hand pitched in to help, directed by their patrol rotations as they were each given tasks for the day.

Even McCullum was spotted working in the kitchen as he helped peel potatoes and kneaded bread under O'Connor's watchful eye. It wasn't the prettiest job, but they got by decently in years past when it came to their tradition. Those that couldn't cook learned the basics under the wooden spoon guidance of Papa O'Connor.

"Where did you learn to cook?" McKinley asked as he tossed his finished potato into the community pot along with the rest that were steadily filling it up.

"Before the war, I traveled a lot by myself. I had the good fortune of meeting a lot of helpful people who taught me many skills along the way." He answered as he set a pot to boil and checked on the fresh bread that was baking in the oven.

"He met a lot of grandmothers." One of the men interjected teasingly as they worked on their potatoes.

"You joke, but if not for these skills, I would have starved a long time ago." O'Connor waved the spoon at them sternly. "You've been lucky to never end up in that situation, lads. Without yer mums, or the shops or some poor lass that takes pity on you, you'd end up like a stray dog in a ditch."

"That's fair." Vincent prompted as he stepped inside the kitchen to wash the dirt from his hands and peek at what was in the pots. "Speaking of Mum, it's getting late. When is she coming?"

"Soon." O'Connor answered simply. "Where is Vukasin?"

"Watching the hogs and contemplating how he can add Vodka to them without it catching on fire." Vincent said matter of factly.

"I hope you're joking." McCullum interrupted.

"That's what I said but you can never tell with him." Vincent shrugged. "Anywho, since we're all gonna die in a fiery ball of flaming pigs, what did you get in your box McCullum?"

"None of yer business." He rolled his eyes. "Tell ya what, go get Babic to come here and I'll show ya."

"Promise?" Vincent narrowed his eyes on the Irishman.

McCullum leaned back in his chair, the knife in one hand and a half peeled spud in the other as he nodded. "Sure. Promise. Now get yer arse moving before he does some stupid shite out there."

  
  
  


Dinner was about finished when McKinley came bounding in with Miss Vinke trailing behind him. He stopped at the door to take her coat and bag, and hang it up with the rest. O'Connor was busy in the kitchen when he spotted her with her cherry red lips and chocolate tresses pinned back in waves against her shoulders. She wore a midnight blue dress with a little white collar at the neck line. The skirts went down to her ankles, with just the toes of her heels sticking out. Her cheeks were pink from the cold nipping at her face on the walk over.

She whisked over to the kitchen, greeted by a kiss on the cheek as O'Connor met her with a smile. "You look lovely." Mackintosh pulled a chair out for her to sit while the boys finished setting the tables. They had several of them moved into the living space to make room for everyone. Typical meal times had them scattered about the first floor or eating in rotations as they came off patrol or exchanged shifts so the table was rarely ever full at once.

She was offered a cup of tea to warm herself as O'Connor directed the men to move the dishes around. Vukasin and Vincent carved the hogs up, McCullum doled out the booze, sitting like a gatekeeper near the crates to keep the rascals at bay until after they ate. They gathered round, washed up properly and said a prayer led by Bishop, one of the head Chaplains.

Then dug in.

There was laughter and stories told as they passed plates, filled bellies and drank to warm their spirits and their faces. O'Connor sat beside Miss Vinke, with McCullum at the other end of the table as he smiled, harped at his men and listened in to their crude jokes and endless banter. He smiled over the rim of his drink and laughed a genuine hearty sound erupting into the air. A few times the recruits had him going until he couldn't breath and had tears in his eyes.

Francach had his own little table tucked up beside his Papa, with his own little plate to nibble at a collection of treats, including a biscuit from Getrude. As the evening grew, Francach was tucked into bed in O'Connor's quarters while the men cleared the tables and dishes.

Hainsly, Johnson, Bishop and Jackie broke out their instruments and started to play a festive tune. They cleared the furniture to the far corners of the room and began to dance and drink to their heart's content. Vincent and Vukasin were bouncing around with arms hooked together, boots stomping the creaky wood floors as Hainsly rattled spoons, Johnson played violin and Bishop worked his accordion along to a few songs. Jackie had a makeshift drum he patted along to keep the beat as they gathered in the corner, boots stomping along the edges for those who watched. Hands clapping in time in between shots of whiskey and vodka.

McKinley was dared to join the thrill, his feet tapped energetically with impressive skill to an Irish jig. Earning a wide eyed stare from Vincent, who tried and failed to keep up. O'Connor took Gertrude by her hand and twirled her around in an effortless motion and pulled her close to his broad chest. Grey eyes bright in the light of the room as he stared adoringly down at her. Her sweet red lips pulled up into a smile all her own as they glided back and forth to the upbeat and energetic music.

McCullum somehow went from nursing a bottle of whiskey, or two, to shouting encouragements at his men and song requests to the band. Until he was mysteriously coaxed into joining the wild and raucous dancing. Men fell on top of each other in clumsy steps, fisting hands into shirts, pulling and sighing as they hollered, hooted and danced, passing pulls of booze along between each other and playing cards in little corners.

As the night waned on, O'Connor snagged Gertrude away from the rowdy group, catching one last glimpse of McCullum throwing his arms up into the air as he dragged one of the boys into a poorly sung rendition of Here's A Health To The Company while Johnson played violin, carrying the song along until Bishop joined in.

"I have a gift for you." O'Connor started as he guided her up the stairs towards his private chambers, carefully tiptoeing along through the narrow corridor until he reached his room at the end. He clicked the door open and peeked inside, ensuring his fuzzy child was behaving himself and stayed in his box before he went further.

Sitting on his bed, was the package he had intended to give to Gertrude but he had to wait till after dinner when he could find some breathing room.

"They are a rowdy bunch." Gertrude breathed deeply, recovering from all the activity with pink tinted cheeks and a never ending grin dancing on her lips. A light sheen of sweat dappled her skin, but nothing compared to O'Connor's own worn out appearance. The hard work was fulfilling when he got to see so many smiling faces by the end. He was well aware that a few of these men might not live to see the end of the month. Half may be gone by the end of next year, if they were lucky. Every occasion worth celebrating was done lavishly in full Priwen style. Both O'Connor and McCullum, as well as the other officers that oversaw the other outposts set aside a chunk of money every year from their pay to fund the dinner for all their men. It was an arrangement they made in the beginning and it's held strong ever since.

"Rowdy, definitely." O'Connor smiled as he stooped low to pick up the package and hand it to her. He plopped back on the mattress, his large size matched his shoulders to her hips as he relaxed back against the wall. "Come here." He held his hand out to her and stretched his legs out as he pulled her carefully into his lap. She smoothed her skirts out as she rested against his chest and crossed her legs at the ankles. It wasn't the most comfortable place in the building, but it was private and allowed him to drape his arms around her and nuzzle into her hair with a gentle smile.

"What's this?" She asked, twisting to meet that knowing look in his eyes. 

"Open it and see."

Her nimble fingers plucked at the ribbon that scantily held the package shut, letting it fall to her lap as she was greeted first with a paper wrapped book. Peeling the cover back, she came to find an Irish Cookbook. "You love to cook and I thought I could share a taste of my home with you." He explained, quietly.

Underneath that was a box, that upon opening had a new pair of black wool gloves with a fuzzy hem along the edges. He noticed hers were starting to fade from wear and the winters were getting colder by the day.

As she lifted the gloves to examine their softness, she noted the strangely wrapped item beneath. The brown paper peeled away easily to expose a slender leather handle with GV branded at the base and a small cross along the hilt. As she lifted the item, it became apparent what it was.

"A wooden stake." He commented. "So you'll be safe. I'll admit it's not the most expensive or lavish thing but I thought practicality was more beneficial for the situation."

"Thank you Beamard." She said softly, examining the stake thoughtfully. O'Connor had the sneaking suspicion that this wasn't what she had been expecting. He felt a bit uncertain about it now that he thought on it more. Maybe he should have asked McCullum's thoughts on it. She smiled up at him and gently cupped his cheek, running her fingers through his beard as she looked up into his eyes. His worries melted away in that moment. 

"Do you like your blanket?" She asked, nodding towards the quilt sprawled across the mattresses.

"I do. Thank you very much, Miss Vinke." He murmured. "The lads were ecstatic when they got theirs."

"So I heard. Even Mr. McCullum formally thanked me after dinner."

"I noticed." He hummed, lips curled into a crooked smile as he cupped the side of her face with his palm. His fingers traced the delicate curve of her cheek as a few stray strands of hair fell from their pins. He swept them back and leaned in close, their lips brushed together in a gentle kiss. "You're beautiful tonight, Miss Vinke."

"Beamard-"

"O'CONNOR!" The drunken shout interrupted from down the hall, causing both of them to jolt at its suddenness. He groaned and let his head hit the wall behind him as he begged the land for the patience of a building storm. "O'Connoooooor yoo-hoo!"

"I guess we'll have to continue this another time." He sighed as he moved to get up, carefully shimmying her off his lap before offering her a hand up. He collected the box with the gifts and handed them back to her while she smoothed over her skirts. They just opened the door when the pair of drunks stumbled into one of the other rooms, then peered back out to catch a peek at their passing. O'Connor didn't notice who it was but he had a suspicion if the fit of giggles and stifled laughter was anything to go by.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"You gave her a what?" McCullum blurted at breakfast as those not too hungover to function gathered for a meal. Vincent was sprawled out in his chair, looking far more tired than he had any right to be, despite not having a single sip of alcohol all night. But he may have gotten a bellyache from eating too much candy. He was currently nursing it with a cup of tea. Vukasin had been hammered but looked like nothing had happened at all as he ate his breakfast.

McKinley and Mackintosh were miserable, heaped partially on the table and ignoring their food. Apparently Vukasin dragged the recruits into a drinking contest. They did not win.

"I thought it would be practical!" O'Connor protested as he stirred a spoonful of honey into his tea. In his defense, it was very practical.

"Women don't want practical. They want pretty!" Vincent countered. "You buy them nice dresses, fancy jewelry, books of poetry…" His voice trailed off. "Instead you gave her a cookbook and a wooden stake. I hope she stabs you with it later."

"I don't see what I did wrong." O'Connor grunted.

McCullum leaned forward so his elbows rested on the table as he spoke carefully. "A cookbook tells a lass that she _belongs_ in the kitchen."

"But she likes cooking. I thought we could do more things together." He answered earnestly.

"A pair of gloves just screams _your hands are too cold. Don't touch me!"_ Vincent added.

"The pair she has are worn out and they don't look very warm." O'Connor explained as he raised his tea to his lips and blew the steam away.

"I like the stake." Vukasin added. "Is nice idea but maybe knife been better."

"You're not helping, Vuka." Vincent hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The colors of the quilts:
> 
> McCullum's quilt - Shades of red, orange and yellow arranged in a dragon pattern. (Which he loves very much)
> 
> Vinnie's quilt- Blue blanket in shades of dark, light and ocean blue with a padded area near the designated top that he can bleed on that can be removed and washed, protecting the blanket from his nightly accidents.
> 
> Vuka's quilt- Shades of green in forest, olive and midnight with touches of blue blanket. 
> 
> Also, don't let O'Connor pick out gifts for a lady. There is two things he is dreadful at. One is singing, the other is thinking of gifts for a woman.


	17. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MUST READ BEFORE CHAPTER 22 OF CAPTIVATION

The snow was deep tonight. A thick blanket that fell over the city for three days straight. It was relentless but so were the men and women that continued to work through the horrid conditions. Leeches still hunt, despite the bitter cold that scared off most prey, there were still the homeless and the helpless that didn’t have a shelter to hide within to fend off beasts of the unwelcome kind. Sadly, the streets don’t need an invitation to walk and neither does an old nook or shed. There was ample enough sanctuary if one looked in the right places, but most didn’t flock towards God when times get rough despite what the good book told you. Geoffrey knew these truths to be self evident. 

His men still patrolled, even with all their grumbling when O’Connor handed out the rotation schedules for the week. McCullum had stood in the kitchen with recruits McKinley and Mackintosh, somehow roped into dish duty by O’Connor. He was feeling generous enough and pensive enough for the day to allow it, his thoughts settled into deeper thought with the monotonous motions. The two younger men chattered about stories of home and their lives when they were younger. Mackintosh liked horses and McKinley’s pa was a fisherman. McCullum was already aware of the latter, as both brothers had complained often of the stench of fish in the lower market and along the docks. Their distaste driven from long seasons hauling the feckers in by net loads, since Charlie was killed by a skal ambush, McKinley didn’t speak much about his folks. It was a relief to hear him bring it up again in good company.

The harsh weather was cruel to him, McCullum realized. The years had not been kind and too many hunts ended with injuries left him sore and stiff when the weather turned. The amount of aches and pains he experienced when a bad summer storm was rolling in was astonishing and he swore at one point in the last few months that he was going to start falling apart at the joints. One storm brought on pains so bad he could hardly grip his sword to fight with. His hands were worn from too many brawls and broken bones.

He’ll stubbornly admit that he self-medicated those nights with a strong bottle of whiskey on his desk and the peace and quiet of his office. O’Connor had a good nose for sussing out when to leave him to his whims and let him wallow for a while. It was the least he could ask for after all they’ve been through.

McCullum stopped to tuck his collar up around his neck when a particularly strong gust sent shivers curling down his spine and tightened the stiff muscles there. He winced, rolled his shoulders to loosen up before picking a direction to follow. There were two patrols wandering the East End. One by the waterfront near the sewers and another that took the high ground, paralleling the busier main streets.

In the startling silence that befell the city with all the snow and the nightly shroud, he could just make out the muffled echoes of voices. He followed them and found the upper patrol, the one that wandered the streets closest to the Sad Saint’s Night Asylum. They made sure to keep a suitable distance from it, one out of respect for Sean Hampton and his pacifistic views but also to avoid encountering the fraud Throgmorton, who was more of a pain in the side than anything else. McCullum had a suspicion that he was more likely to talk a leech’s ear off than actually kill it. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was correct. Throgmorton had been spotted chatting Dr. Reid’s ear off a mile a minute as Reid humored him and his supposed _Vampire Hunting Exploits_. The irony was not lost on the situation.

There was a four man patrol wandering the street when McCullum approached. A chaplain, a brawler, an exterminator and a gunner. The gunner was a cadet, the other three men had been around for several months at least. Geoffrey recalled at least two of them joined in the beginning of the Summer and one had signed up last winter, but he couldn’t figure out which was which. The group tended to travel together and worked efficiently to bring down leeches and that’s all that mattered. They didn’t cause trouble which was a blessing these days, especially after the recent stint of corrupt Priwen members abusing their status and positions in the guard.

“How’s the hunt coming along?” McCullum called to his men who perked up with excitement at his approach. The brawler grinned and greeted McCullum with a firm handshake as he started to regal their leader with a good hunting story from just tonight.

“You should have seen it Mac. Bastard didn’t even know what hit him. One minute he was prowling about and the next, Bishop stunned him with his cross. I impaled the fucker on my blade while he was blinded and Jackie gassed him as soon as I dumped him on the ground.” He patted the bladed weapon on his forearm, one that resembled a bayonet of sorts but wider and longer. It was good for close range combat and for those strong enough and well versed in using it, it was a formidable weapon of choice. McCullum recalled the fact O’Connor used to brandish one before he jumped up in ranks to stand at the leader’s side. He could still crack skulls with his bare hands but his duties often kept him back at HQ, ensuring the rest of the lads didn't burn the city down when Geoffrey was away on his own investigations.

“Jonesy shot it in the back a few times before it fled. It looked pretty bad off when it ran but we lost its trail quick.” Jackie explained, gesturing with the barrel of his weapon towards the docks. “We figured it would run into the second patrol eventually and they’d finish the blighter off.”

“It didn’t attack?” McCullum asked after a moment, confused by the story.

“Nope. We didn’t give it a chance to, the poor bastard. Never knew what was coming.” Bishop chuckled and ribbed the brawler in the side teasingly with his elbow. Geoffrey frowned for a moment, brows furrowed in contemplation as he regarded the direction it was headed and the location it appeared to have come from. The tracks in the snow went from the Night Asylum towards the docks, the same route he had been following for the evening.

“I’ll check in with the lads and see if they’ve seen it. I might spot the leech along the way.” Geoffrey started to part as one of the men blurted quite proudly.

“It probably found some hole to crawl into and die, hopefully.”

Geoffrey squinted against the snow flurries that ghosted across the street with the roar of the wind. It whipped at his face and stung his eyes until they watered. He was tempted to find a wall or alcove to tuck into and warm up for a few minutes when he caught something peculiar.

Footprints in the snow accompanied by blood splatter. It was almost too dark to see but Geoffrey had enough years under his belt tracking leeches in every season and type of terrain one could think of. The hunt was an exciting thrill when he finally reached his prey but tonight that thrill was muted and accompanied by a cold discomfort that gripped his chest as if a dead hand had invaded it.

The beast was clever, Geoffrey realized. It took to the rooftops to avoid the patrols but it eventually ran out of ground and was forced to the streets. The tracks start then stop then start again in spurts of motion, each time they start anew, more blood is spilled in its tracks. It stumbled, leaned against a brick wall before collapsing in the snow. It crawled a short distance, more blood smeared the street where it dug through the drifts to the cobblestones, then pushed itself back up to continue on. By now, it had lost a considerable amount of blood, large globules spotted the cobblestones and congealed quickly in the cold.

Geoffrey didn’t need to read the trail for long when the sharp crack of coughing broke the silence and drew his attention towards a small lean to, erected by some homeless refugee or another. The heaps of trash and debris was buried in the snow but the bright red stains that puddled just outside of the nook were a dead give away. Dark fabric concealed the beast from his view as McCullum stepped closer, his sword drawn in a cautious stroke as he inspected it for any signs of fleeing once more.

Something felt wrong about this whole situation. An itch he couldn’t quite scratch, even as he stalked the path the beast left behind. It wasn’t careless, he would admit. It was methodical up until the beast’s own body gave out and weakness overcame it. His men did a hell of a job breaking it down.

McCullum stepped forward, the tip of his blade caught the end of the creature’s long coat and started to pull it away to get a better look at the monster beneath the shadows. He wasn’t expecting the voice that cried out at him, broken and desperate.

“N-no! No more. _Please!_ ” It came like a shrapnel shard of ice lanced through his heart as the creature flinched fearfully. The unattainable itch at the back of his mind suddenly made sense as dread seeped into his bones. He sheathed his sword, the sound was deafening in the night air, further dragging an agonized groan and another pitiful plea from the man. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I _didn’t_ hurt anyone. I promise. _I promise._ ”

Geoffrey could see the blood slowly seeping out of Jonathan’s wounds, it drooled against the snow in slow thick rivulets. He tilted his head and crouched beside the nook, a gloved hand gripped the edge of the ekon’s coat and pulled in a quick motion, exposing the mass of rash like burns on his hands, face and neck. They swelled and bled, a puss like fluid yellowed the snow it came in contact with. Jonathan was as pale as the snow that heaped around him, his ghostly blue eyes like ice catching the evening light were stained by the red tear tracks that slowly slid down his face. He curled further in on himself, a sob racked his chest as his hands trembled, fumbling to grapple the edges of his coat and drag it over his face, a protective huddle to keep the light and the gas from touching his skin again.

"Not again. Please, not again." He whimpered.

“Jonathan, it’s me.” Geoffrey spoke softly, his hand extended to rest on his shoulder in consolation. Reid flinched, a hard motion that pained them both. For Reid, it came as a sharp gasp that sputtered with a hard cough that couldn’t quite get enough air into his lungs. Bloodied spittle dripped from his lips as he wheezed in another breath.

“Christ. The fuck did they do to ya?” It was a stupid question to ask because he knew exactly what they did. They did what Geoffrey had trained them to do. They hunted a leech and made Reid suffer dearly for his affliction. It was foolish to be angry at his men when they were only following orders but that didn’t stop him from seething with rage, mostly at himself.

“Reid, can you hear me?” Silence. “Jonathan.” A rasp followed as Jonathan bobbed his head in a slow sluggish motion. His leg twitched in a half aborted attempt to tuck it inside the nook as the wind picked up. The small shelter groaned and protested against the force, the walls were thin and flimsy which impressed McCullum that it stayed standing for so long.

“Fuck.” He glanced around at his surroundings. The weather was getting worse and the night was still young. There was too high of a chance that the patrol would wander this direction and overlap at this point. It was inevitable that one of his men might find Reid in this state and if they don’t, then a rogue skal might wander by and finish him off. Or worse, an unsuspecting mortal. Reid was wounded, starved by the looks of it since his wounds weren’t healing. That was a recipe for disaster and murder.

“Jonathan, you need to listen to me closely.” Geoffrey’s voice demanded obedience but he earned only a choked off cough and a fragile whimper as pain spread throughout the doctor’s body from his wounds. Geoffrey felt even more like shit with the passing minutes. Foregoing any attempt to persuade the leech into obeying, he began to _tell_ him instead. He can ask for forgiveness later when Reid was alive and more lucid.

“I’m going to help you up and we’re going to walk to a safe house.” Geoffrey explained but Reid made no move to comply. The hunter wasn’t even sure if he heard him. _Fuck it._ He grabbed ahold of Reid’s arm and started to haul him out of the nook. The ekon hissed through his fangs and tried to pull away but he lacked the strength and McCullum was too stubborn to let it slide. He dragged Reid up so one arm was wrapped around the hunter’s shoulders and Geoffrey’s was braced around his waist.

Geoffrey was grateful when the doctor’s legs seemed to still be in working order but he wasn’t sure for how much longer. It was a strange sensation as cold blood seeped from Reid's wounds across the dark fabric of McCullum's own clothes. It caused another shiver to rattle through him as he heaved the additional weight along, careful not to slip and topple them both into a ditch along the way.

Geoffrey's lungs burned from the frigid cold by the time they reached the safehouse. His own legs were unsteady, his pants soaked through from the snow, clumps packed into his boots making for an uncomfortable trek about halfway through. Were the situation not so dire, he'd give Reid a piece of his mind about having to save his arse like this. But he kept his mouth shut and bared through it. Reid was worse off anyhow and getting worse as time went on. McCullum was practically dragging him at the end stretch, half a street away from their goal and the doctor lost consciousness. The stairs were a nightmare to climb but the hunter managed. He had to set the doctor on the steps while he forced the door open through all the snow and ice that accumulated on the frame. The wood protested like it were about to splinter and shatter under the force. Thankfully, it held up and Geoffrey could drag Reid into the safe house and shut the door behind him with a firm kick.

"I'd say you owe me for this but I'm partially the reason why you're in this mess to begin with." McCullum harped, aiming for teasing but it came out breathless and exasperated. His face was caught between two shades of red from the exertion and the bitter cold that whipped at his face. He huffed out a great breath and straightened up his back with a groan.

"This place doesn't get used much anymore but in my younger years, it was a nice hideaway." He announced as he rummaged through what supplies remained in the safe house and started working on building a fire in the wood stove. He held his hands over the grate and let the heat thaw his fingers before he turned towards the ekon and started the long task of undressing him out of his heavy snow damp clothes. Between the ice and the blood, many of the buttons and clasps were frozen stiff or too grimy to pry off. McCullum ripped at a few of them, and cut the rest, figuring he could apologize to Reid for it later when the ekon managed to live through the night.

There was a large gaping wound in the center of Jonathan's chest where sinew and muscle slowly pieced flesh back together and bridged the gap. It wasn't as bad as Geoffrey had anticipated but it was still disturbing to see where one of his men had driven Reid right through. It wasn't a straight through hole anymore, the tissue had grown back in layers, from the most vital parts of the organs and muscles and working it's way outwards.

The burns were still pretty bad and he made a conscious effort not to apply pressure to or touch them if he could help it. He managed to drag the ekon so he was lying before the fire with hopes that he'd thaw out some and look less like a corpse from a trench. Reid's eyes were shut tight, one side of his face took the brunt of the gas leaving large patches where skin flaked off and hung from his jaw and cheek. It shed like a second layer as his body rejected the old and damaged and tried to mend the new.

A sickly cough would break from his chest, a sputtering gasp as Reid tried to breath through damaged lungs. Blood puddled from his lips as he huddled into a tighter ball. His hands were tucked as close to his chest as was possible without them coming into contact with anything. They trembled, much like the rest of Reid did now that Geoffrey could get a better look at him. He was shaking like a leaf in a storm.

"You're safe now Jonathan." Geoffrey assured, reaching a gentle hand towards the ekon before pausing. He withdrew his touch, assuming it would be unwanted now. Jonathan probably didn't even know he was here with him. Geoffrey ignored the thought and focused on salvaging some more supplies from the building, it at least offered a nice distraction as he searched for blankets. He found a rat during his efforts and after digging out a crate he deemed suitable, he locked it inside the box and tucked it away for safekeeping later. It wasn't much for someone like Reid, but every ounce of blood counted.

With a spare blanket in hand, he moved to sit beside Reid, his back against an old ammo crate that was repurposed for holding God knows what. It was locked and given the markings hastily scribbled on it, he assumed it was just rubbish. If anything, it'd be useful for burning if they ran out of fuel for the fire. He tucked the blanket around his shoulders after he removed his soaked jacket. It hung over the back of a broken down shelf, the wood long since rotted and caved to the weight of the water damaged books that once sat upon it. 

His fingers were just starting to regain feeling and his lungs didn't hurt so much anymore when Jonathan finally started to stir. He didn't open his eyes but he moved with more purpose and awareness in his motions. His fingers fumbled over his clothing as he felt out the wound still healing on his chest and estimated the three bullet wounds to his back and the exit injury of the stab wound. Geoffrey assumed the bullets had already been rejected by Reid's body as a foreign object.

"You still with me?" Geoffrey asked after a minute.

"McCullum?" It was shaky and frail but it was Jonathan. A far more lucid Jonathan than he had encountered earlier in the night.

"Aye. It's me." He assured. "You've nothing to fear, Reid. You're safe here." It felt necessary to add though Geoffrey couldn't blame him if the doctor rejected his presence as _safety._ Especially after everything Geoffrey had done to him. Even now, this whole ordeal weighed upon his conscience as much as any other misdeeds he'd acted on.

"My...apologies." It came as a shuddered breath, drawing Geoffrey's attention down to the doctor. He had one eye open, the one that wasn't as burned up. It was stained with the dried tears from earlier but it was still that crystal blue, so pure and untainted by corruption and temptation.

"Whatcha apologizing for?" Geoffrey had to ask.

For once, Reid fell to silence. It appeared he'd fallen short of words or maybe, he was struggling to recall what exactly happened tonight. "I believe I may have acted in a way that is quite shameful." Jonathan finally came forward with the words.

Words that shielded the calculated calm, words that attempted rather miserably to hide the broken and brittle man beneath the veneer of a prim and proper doctor. Words that tried to ignore the fact that Reid had suffered through horrible things, both as a man and a monster, and he came out with his own unforeseen scars from it all. The losses, the pain, the choices he had to make that were far harder than anyone had any right to force him to make. He was a man that endured a war and despite his immortality, he was just like any other soldier. He just has to live a hell of a lot longer in this hell. Geoffrey realized he didn't make it any easier on him. Not when he dealt the bad hand that befell Reid in the start and he continued to do so even now.

"You've nothing to apologize for." Geoffrey reprimanded. "Just shut up and get some rest."

"But I-" The stern look from the hunter did enough to silence his protests as Reid shifted to get comfortable. After a few minutes and a moment of pouting from the ekon, he managed to find some comfort with the bundled up edge of McCullum's blanket as a makeshift pillow, and the steady combing motions of the Irishman's fingers carding through his hair.


	18. Catnip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is after the events of chapter 22 of Captivation

Geoffrey couldn't really put his finger on it, but at some point over the last few days he felt oddly restless. He wasn't sure if it was his new side hobby with Reid as they met up in secret rendezvous to test out this experiment the ekon wanted to try regarding his fears connected to Geoffrey. At first, the hunter was nervous and uncertain about what exactly he'd be asked to do, but with time it got easier. He felt less guilty when Jonathan would ask him to put a pair of restraints on his wrists and they would sit across the room from each other with a line painted on the floor. Jonathan was not allowed to cross the line which was easy enough to obey.

They would talk, Geoffrey would sit either on the floor or in the creaky old chair they found in one of the hideouts. One of the few that still held his weight. Some days were easier than others. Some days Jonathan would utilize their safe word in a sudden sharp plea for Geoffrey to remove the chains immediately and they would sit down, side by side by the wood stove and talk about anything other than the experiment. Sometimes they would be touching, sometimes Reid wouldn't be able to stand the close contact.

They took it in stride. It was harder for Reid to get over what transpired between them. He would still occasionally flinch if Geoffrey got too close or moved too quickly in the corner of his eye. The day the Hunter had dropped a crate, Reid very nearly jumped out of his skin, startled by the sudden noise. It was one of the few times Geoffrey had been _growled_ at by Reid like some feral stray but when they settled down, and Geoffrey apologized for the incident, things fell back into their usual routine.

They kept it on a cycle, always coming up with new ideas to try and help. Some things worked, some things didn't and they would scrap it and start over. Geoffrey even got in the habit of catching rats to bring along as treats for the ekon after their sessions. Reid made a joke about _positive reinforcement_ but still gratefully accepted the offerings nonetheless.

The reason for Geoffrey's impromptu visit to Pembroke hospital did not involve another session. At least not entirely. He was concerned about the fact that Reid had set the date for their latest session which was the previous night. Said doctor was absent, leaving Geoffrey to wait for two hours in a shitty safe house for him to show up. Eventually he put the fire out and went on an impromptu patrol to blow off steam. He didn't see or hear from Reid at all. 

When Bonner came to Pembroke earlier that night for his usual treatment which Reid was handling, he was met with Dr. Ackroyd instead who carried out the procedure and was not so politely informed that Dr. Reid wasn't feeling well and opted out of his usual rounds the last few days.

Geoffrey knew full well that vampires can't get sick, so either something was seriously wrong with Reid, or he was up to something that didn't necessarily bode well in either case.

He had mounted the steps leading up towards Reid's office after he carefully navigated around Nurse Branagan who was more trouble than she was worth, and stopping momentarily to ask Nurse Hawkins if the aforementioned doctor had been out and about this evening.

"I'm not even sure if he's in his office. We're down our Administrator _and_ our Head Surgeon at the same time." Nurse Hawkins huffed anxiously as she fiddled with the papers on the reception desk, trying to organize the stack of records.

"Wait, Swansea isn't here?"

"He's been gone for a few days. He left right around the time Dr. Reid got sick." She shook her head. "Awful timing I tell ya. We've already been so short handed."

"I see. Thank ya." She stared after him as he climbed the steps and made his way down the quiet upper floor hallway towards Reid's office. His hand rested on the handle but was met with resistance as the lock held fast. Geoffrey frowned, wiggled the knob before knocking to gain the doctor's attention. Reid's office was rarely ever locked and the lights were still on inside from what he'd seen when he approached from Whitechapel.

"Reid?" Geoffrey spoke through the door and listened closely. There was only silence, then a heavy thump against the floor. Geoffrey frowned and knocked harder against the doorframe as a bolt of concern lodged in his chest. "Jonathan Reid."

Still silence. A deathly chill bristled down Geoffrey's spine as he tried the lock again. It still didn't budge. As tempting as it was to break the door down, he wasn't stupid enough to charge into a room blindly when he didn't know what lie on the other side. He doubled back down the hallway where Swansea's office was. The door was locked but that wasn't a problem for the Hunter. A well placed strike splintered the frame and loosened the lock, allowing him to slip inside and search the administrator's desk for his keys.

It took three attempts to find the one to Reid's office which rewarded him with a satisfying click. He left the keys hanging in the lock as he peered inside.

To his mortification, Reid was sprawled across the floor beside his cot, wrapped haphazardly in a navy blue patchwork quilt, wearing only his small clothes. His eyes were glossy as he stared up at the ceiling and practically writhed against the fabric. Blood stained his lips and dried on the edges of his mouth, coloring his fangs a pale pink hue. For a brief moment, Geoffrey thought the doctor was convulsing but upon closer inspection as he carefully approached, he could see the ekon's pupils were blown wide.

After a quick glance around for the source of the problem, he spotted the well maintained fern by his desk and then the relatively fresh, dead rat beside an empty syringe. Next to them was a bottle of opium and a solution mixture that Reid may have made himself.

“Did you fucking drug yourself?" Geoffrey blurted in disbelief as he moved towards the ekon. "Jonathan, can you hear me?"

No response. 

_Fuck._

What was he supposed to do with a drugged up Ekon? He supposed for starters he could lock the door back up, and hope that none of the staff come to investigate the noise. He retrieved the keys and set them on Reid's desk after securing _both_ the main door and the balcony one to ensure the doctor didn't wander off in his current incapacitated state. Though, judging by how lethargic he was, Geoffrey didn't think Reid could drag himself out the door even if he wanted to.

He watched as the doctor rolled over, pawing at the carpet as he dragged his claws across the floor, ripping at the fibers as he growled and bared his fangs in a toothy self-satisfied smile.

It was only a secondary concern which struck Geoffrey as bizarre on his end, when he realized the very real and possible danger that he was in. Reid was slow and clumsy but he was still dangerous and highly unpredictable in this state. He could turn at a moment's notice and attack the hunter without thinking. And yet, Geoffrey had this strange sort of faith in Jonathan's ability to school his appetite that it didn't put him on edge. Not immediately. He wasn't stupid though. He would be prepared to strike back should the ekon try anything unsavory.

Geoffrey prodded Reid with the tip of his boot, nudging his side to get a reaction out of him. He was met with a pitiful whine as the ekon curled around his leg and latched on. His grip was ridiculously strong despite his inebriation, and it was a small miracle that he remembered to retract his claws.

"Reid, let go." Geoffrey spoke firmly but earned only a shake of the head as the doctor growled, a low inhuman sound that filtered through his chest. It was similar to the sewer beasts and prickled along Geoffrey's nerves with the tiny alarm bells sounding off in his head. He took a deep breath and reached down to pry the doctor's arms away from his leg. It worked. For about thirty seconds.

Geoffrey cursed loudly when Reid let go before quickly wrapping them around Geoffrey's shoulders with a triumphant "Ah-ha!" As he rolled them both over to heap on the floor. Geoffrey felt all the air be knocked out of his lungs as his back hit the hard ground. He jolted as Reid's face buried into his shoulder. His fingers clawed at the doctor's bare back, trying to find purchase to pry him away. His fingers had just wound into his hair when he heard it. Jonathan Emmet Reid, brilliant medical mind of his time, was _purring_.

Geoffrey didn't even know ekons _could_ purr. Or was that just a purely Jonathan trait? Yes, it was there. Like the motor of a stray cat rumbling away as his fingers sunk into the dark messy hair along the ekon's scalp and stroked through it in tiny repetitive motions. Reid relaxed against Geoffrey's side as the Hunter gave in and let him pull the edges of the blanket around them. The material was soft to the touch, a strangely appealing texture for the moment as Geoffrey stroked his hand down Jonathan's back, tracing older scars from the war along his shoulders and spine, warmed by the blanket as he explored the cooler expanse of the ekon's bare skin.

He felt him nuzzling against his neck as strong arms pulled him closer. Geoffrey didn't resist. Didn't exactly have much choice in the matter, considering Reid was out of his mind with whatever drugs he consumed. He hoped this wasn't going to be the start of another bad habit.

"Reid?" The Hunter tried after a moment, attempting to get his attention. There was only the quiet sleepy rumble as he nestled his head against the soft tender space between Geoffrey's shoulder and his neck. Every nerve was on fire with warning signals, causing the Hunter to tense up suddenly. His fingers tightened in Reid's hair as he spoke in a warning tone. _"Jonathan._ "

The ekon held still, waiting patiently for the firm touch to finally relax before tilting his head up to meet Geoffrey's scrutinizing gaze. His pupils were massive, with only the tiniest ring of pale blue outlining the black sclera. Like gazing into an ocean abyss, sinking deeper and deeper into the mysterious depths and what horrors lie within. The nightmarish creatures that surface only when blood is shed.

Surprisingly enough, Geoffrey had to admit the look was kind of cute on the doctor. Like a cat on catnip. He wondered if he had a tail, would it be twitching eagerly as he considered further mischief. Geoffrey assumed so when Reid's claws trailed along his side in gentle swipes before his head sunk back against the hunter's chest. His nostrils flared as he drank in the scent that saturated Geoffrey's clothes. The smell of wood smoke, grease and whiskey.

" _Mine."_ The word was primal on Jonathan's lips as they curled back, his fangs on full display. His tongue swiped along the bottom of his lip, tasting the blood of the rat where it lingered. Another feral sound rumbled out of his chest as he adjusted his position and threaded his legs between Geoffrey's. The Hunter realized very quickly how intimate this whole situation was getting. Considerably more so given the fact Reid wasn't wearing hardly any clothes.

"Fuck." Geoffrey cursed, letting his head fall back against the floor as he glared up at the ceiling. Reid looked pleased with himself as he nuzzled into his neck and resumed his previous position.

"Are you always this cuddly?" Geoffrey asked after a moment. Looking back, he supposed he couldn't blame him. The man probably spent a lot of time away from people, and given his condition, he couldn't exactly go out and find partners to share a bed with. Maybe he was touch starved? 

Geoffrey recalled how lost he looked back in the safe house, when the Hunter had dragged him out of the snow half dead. Jonathan looked so content as Geoffrey stroked his hand through his hair. Of course, he was always so peaceful while he slept and far easier to deal with when he wasn't nitpicking everything or scolding Geoffrey for some reason or another. When he didn't look at him like he was a monster, with pain in his eyes and apprehension coiled tight into every muscle. Like he was prepared to run at the drop of a pin. He recalled the contentment that smoothed over his face, settling into every shadow and curve as Geoffrey traced the scarring on his cheek and combed back his hair with gentle swipes. It was as relaxing for Geoffrey as he assumed it was for Reid, given the yearning that lingered a fraction too long on the doctor's face when he sat up. He looked tempted to request it again, and maybe Geoffrey would have been generous enough to oblige him. Maybe.

Right now, he may be indulging in that desire to touch and sooth his own starved state. He couldn't remember the last time he had been held by someone else, and willingly returned the favor. At least while completely sober. His drunken one night stands did not count. It wasn't even the need for a warm body by his side driving him. Especially given the fact Reid was far from warm. He wasn't necessarily _cold_ but he didn't feel as pleasant as Geoffrey would consider satisfying for companionship. He was at least better mannered than most people Geoffrey's dragged into shabby rooms for a quick toss in the sheets. Certainly more high maintenance at that. Definitely the first _cuddler_ Geoffrey's encountered. It was nice to say the least. He wouldn't mind doing it again with a more sober Reid, and maybe with a softer bed. He wasn't picky about the _where_ aspect but this floor was killing his back.

  
  
  
  
  


Geoffrey fell asleep.

Geoffrey McCullum, Leader of the Guard of Priwen fell asleep _with a vampire._

As far as stupid choices go, this one would warrant Carl Eldritch rising from the grave to tan his hide ten times over.

He didn't know how many hours passed but he was well aware of the fact he was no longer lying on the floor. The blanket was draped over him as he was tucked into Reid's office cot. The Hunter didn't have to look far to find the doctor hunched over his desk, dressed in a pair of trousers and a half buttoned shirt, one hand scribbling notes down while the other massaged his temples with increasing regret.

"Reid?" Geoffrey asked cautiously as he sat up, shoving the blanket back out of the way.

Jonathan's head snapped up, startled momentarily as he dropped his pen mid thought. His eyes, Geoffrey noted, were back to their usual size and sharpness. "My apologies, McCullum. I thought you'd be more comfortable on the bed."

"Aye." He grunted. "Ya feeling alright?"

"I'm...well, I am rather embarrassed to admit I didn't want you to see me like _that._ " Jonathan sighed and sat back in his chair. "I was testing a theory and well, it may have gotten out of hand. I don't remember much of what transpired but I can only imagine it was rather shameful." The pained look in the ekon's eyes was hard to miss as Jonathan struggled to make eye contact with Geoffrey.

"I didn't- I didn't _hurt you_ did I?"

"Not really." Geoffrey waved the inquiry off. "You were very _friendly_."

"I see." His voice trailed off to something tight and panicked.

Geoffrey could see the signs as they surfaced. How the ekon begins to withdraw and avoid. The tightness in his jaw and the thin line of his lips. He focused on the notes before him, avoiding the hunter's gaze to find a suitable distraction.

"I didn't mind it." Geoffrey added after a moment, shoving himself up to his feet as he straightened up and casually stretched, lowering his guard. "It was nice. Didn't peg you for the cuddly type." It was gently mocking as Geoffrey meandered around the room.

Jonathan covered his face with his palms as he groaned. Geoffrey chuckled. "You kept your fangs to yourself, Reid. That's all that matters. I can't say the same for that rat though."

"That was part of my experiment." Jonathan stood up to stretch his legs and bleed out some anxious energy, though the timing had him standing face to face with the Hunter. "I wanted to see if I could medicate myself through my food source. And if it would still hold the same effects on me now as it did when I was human."

"It worked like catnip to a cat." Geoffrey stated bluntly. 

"Apparently so. I roughly remember an obsessive need to touch soft things." He admitted, gesturing at the sparsely accumulated notes on his desk. Geoffrey glanced at the scribbles and noticed several dates throughout the week.

"That explains the blanket. And your lack of clothing. I think."

"Don't remind me." Jonathan grumbled. "On another note, why are you here hunter?"

"Someone's been a bad leech and skipped their session yesterday." Geoffrey didn't mean for it to come out the way it had, but fuck it. He was rolling with it. The sudden surprise that erupted on Jonathan's face at the low tone of the Irishman's voice was too amusing to pass up. He stepped closer and raised his brow expectantly. "Well?"

Jonathan balked, taking a step back as his hip bumped into the desk and made it rock gently from the force. "I believe I may have forgotten in the midst of my discovery. My apologies. I'll have to make it up to you, dear hunter."

"How do you suppose you'll do that, Dr. Reid?"

"I- well um..er, Geoffrey-"

The Hunter barked out a sudden sharp laugh causing Reid to look even more flustered and confused. "Don't worry about it, leech. Just don't be late next time or I'll make you regret it." He warned, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

Jonathan watched as Geoffrey turned to stalk away, the hunter tipped his head back as he paused and chuckled. "By the way, if Swansea asks what happened to his office door, tell him it was me."

"What happened to his door, McCullum?" Jonathan looked concerned as the Hunter proceeded to stroll down the hall. He caught the groaned out words. "Geoffrey!" as he rounded the corner and smirked smugly to himself.


	19. Carnal Impulses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is after Captivation chapter 24.

It wasn't exactly protocol when Geoffrey found himself straddling Reid by the hips. The ekon was sprawled out across the floor, lying flat on his back with his wrists chained together. Jonathan's arms were pinned above his head by the strong grip of the hunter as they stared each other down, eye to eye. The sharp edge of Geoffrey's hunting knife was driven into the rotting floorboard beside them, just within the ekon's line of sight.

His heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears as he panted, legs settled on either side of Reid's hips ensuring he was properly caged in place. His pale blue eyes were wide and startled, jaw crooked in disbelief as he met Geoffrey's own stern look. The hunter's free hand braced against Jonathan's collarbone as it gently trailed across his chest towards his neck.

He felt the sudden sharp inhale fill the ekon's chest with an unnecessary rush of air. His head was spinning, reeling from the whole situation as he tried to recall just how he got in this mess. There was an argument, or more like a heated debate. Jonathan was frustrated and prodded at the hunter to goad him into action. Geoffrey had refused. What Reid was asking for, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not again. He despised the way the doctor had looked at him the last time he'd done it. As if he were some cold hearted monster. The barbed words still prickled in the back of his mind despite how much progress they've made and how far they've come together.

Jonathan no longer flinched when Geoffrey touched him. He didn't look like a frightened animal searching for their first chance at freedom when he got too close. He didn't bare his fangs in a snarl of warning when Geoffrey spooked him unintentionally. That primitive animalistic side of vampirism had been quelled and caged into something far more tamed.

Jonathan wanted to take it further, Geoffrey recalled. He wanted to push himself harder, to up the stakes so to speak and introduce more prominent situations of danger. Something that would trigger his fight or flight instincts. That will drive him to act against his natural impulses and wrangle it into a state of docile acceptance. Jonathan made it sound pretty and simple, but Geoffrey knew it for what it was. Jonathan wanted to be broken. Not shattered like the way Geoffrey had done in the end, but manipulated into an illusion of submission and compliance. He wanted what he had in the beginning. 

Jonathan called it trust.

Geoffrey called it a lovely lie.

That's all it was in the start. Two men, lying to themselves and to each other about how the pieces would fall into place. About the laws of the land that they laid out before themselves. Jonathan acted out of self-preservation while Geoffrey had been out of selfishness.

The good doctor refused to be denied. Geoffrey knew that. He should have expected it. He didn't in the end which was absolutely stupid on his part. A risk he should have been prepared for. He wasn't and Jonathan got the upper hand on him. A forceful pull at his thoughts as their eyes met for the briefest moment. Their stare down turned into a command as the ekon forced his hand.

Geoffrey resisted, the snap back was enough to jar the ekon out of his momentary impulse but the hunter was furious. Rightfully so. He hated that spiderweb feeling as leeches spread their will across the unguarded thoughts of their prey. He's prepared himself for it, knows from experience what to expect, how it _feels_ when they try to sink their hooks into his mind and pull at the strings like puppeteers. He knew how to cut those lines the moment they were thrown his way. Reid almost made it work. _Almost._

He charged. They fought. Geoffrey took him down to the floor in a flash of movement. Reid let him. He knew that too. He was well aware that the ekon could have stopped him. He could have used any one of his abilities to avoid his attack but he didn't. Geoffrey did as he asked. His knife leveled against the doctor's throat in warning as he growled into his ear. 

"Don't you fucking dare." He was no man's puppet and he refused to become an unwilling accomplice to the doctor's self-destruction. Reid was playing a dangerous game, Geoffrey could see it. The little shadows that darted across his expression when he lingered too long in his thoughts. The tightness in his jaw when a certain topic would rear its ugly head. The fear that surfaced in his eyes, often accompanied by his haunted expression.

Some days he wouldn't be paying attention to Geoffrey at all. Their conversations would fade and Jonathan would drift off in thought for several minutes. At the most, it lasted half an hour until Geoffrey managed to rouse him back to his senses. He looked confused and taken aback then immediately requested to end their session.

Geoffrey had buried the tip of the knife into the floorboard with a growl, his silent stance on the situation as he held the doctor to the floor. His chest rising quickly as he schooled his composure to the calm that concealed the storm. Jonathan had the gall to look disappointed which only further irritated Geoffrey.

"I'm sorry." It came almost casually, the apologetic expression was diluted by an underlying anticipation that brimmed within the doctor. Like a predator prepared to pounce at the slightest movement. "That was wrong of me to force that upon you."

"Cut the shite Reid." Geoffrey hissed. His palm pressed over the pale exposed curve of the doctor's throat, his index finger laid against the pulse point that throbbed slowly. He could feel the nervous swallow beneath his palm as his fingers squeezed with just a fraction of pressure. Enough to get _all of_ Reid's attention on the situation at hand.

Geoffrey realized in that moment, just how close they were now. He could feel the heat of Reid's breath against his cheek. He could feel the way Reid shifted anxiously beneath his weight, the tension drawn throughout his body like a tightly wound cord, ready to snap at a moment's notice. The doctor looked a mess, sharing the same disheveled state as when he was locked in the cells beneath Priwen. His hair fell out of its neatly combed style and trailed across his forehead in a shaggy mess. Reid's lips parted in a tantalizing invitation, exposing the tips of his fangs as his pale eyes flickered between them then back up to meet Geoffrey's gaze. The blue depths simmered with an unquenchable yearning that Geoffrey couldn't quite place. It felt wrong, to him at least. Like he was abusing the power in their relationship. As if he would be breaking Reid's trust by crossing that line or letting him trample it unwittingly.

"You have me now Hunter." He challenged coolly, wiggling his fingers and making the chains rattle pointedly. The ekon's voice rumbled beneath Geoffrey's touch causing a tightness in his trousers that he refused to acknowledge.

"What are you trying to prove here, Reid?"

Jonathan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I see the game you're playing Reid." Geoffrey growled. "I'm not gonna play along with it anymore until you answer me."

Jonathan appeared to consider this declaration as the momentary ceasefire it was. His head rolled back against the floor with a defeated sigh. "I don't know." He admitted.

"Bullshit."

"I'm being honest here Geoffrey. I truly don't know anymore." His hands twitched in the restraints in a placating gesture. "I guess I've ruined my own experiment to some extent."

"What do you mean?" Geoffrey relaxed off the chain, seeing no reason to keep the doctor pinned anymore. He stayed right where he was seated, but Reid could move his hands freely again. His other hand smoothed down the front of the doctor's chest and adjusted the collar of his shirt while he waited for an answer.

"The whole purpose of the experiment was to regain my freedom." Jonathan reiterated. "I have, to some extent already achieved that by overcoming my fears."

"That's a good thing so why the fuck are we still doing this?"

"I've replaced my fear with something else entirely. Instead of apprehension it's now _anticipation._ Instead of fear, its _excitement._ Do you see what I'm getting at here, Geoffrey?"

"No. Spit it out." He blanched, staring down at the doctor with growing frustration and further puzzlement.

"I like you, Geoffrey." Jonathan blurted plainly. "I like doing _this_ with you." He gestured at their current situation. Geoffrey felt the rush of heat spread across his face at the ekon's words. Surely this was another joke and the good doctor was simply fucking with him. "I noticed my feelings for you quite a while ago. I thought it was only due to the predicament I was in, but here we are."

Jonathan closed his eyes as he continued, resigning himself to an early demise as he dug his grave deeper. "This is the most interesting part of my week. I look forward to these meetings and I was afraid that if I asked you to stop, you wouldn't see me anymore. I thought that...that maybe you did this out of some guilty obligation and if I kept playing along, you'd stay."

Saying it out loud probably made it sound worse than it actually was. Geoffrey frowned, staring down at the doctor who now refused to meet his gaze. He looked scared, apprehensive even but for an entirely new reason. Geoffrey felt his chest tighten as a nervous flutter beat against his ribs. _Well fuck._

"Ya should have just said somethin instead of going through all this trouble." He pointed out flatly.

"Oh, but don't you know? I enjoy being difficult. It makes things interesting." Jonathan purred, stretching his arms out above his head as the chains dragged against the floorboards. The ekon flexed his hips beneath Geoffrey, causing the hunter to curse through his teeth. His hand was clasped over the ekon's throat in warning and before Jonathan could say another word, Geoffrey had swallowed any lingering sounds in a hungry kiss.

"Fucking hell, Reid. Stop being a stubborn bastard." Geoffrey growled, nipping at his bottom lip in a teasing show of teeth. Their mouths slotted together in another desperate kiss as Reid looped his arms around the hunter's shoulders, the chains hung heavily against his back but Geoffrey didn't mind. He had a few ideas for where they could go from here.

"Pot." Jonathan murmured in sharp breaths between their lips. "Kettle." 

"Fucking right." Geoffrey bit the tender skin between his lips and trailed his mouth along Reid's jaw. The soft bristles of his beard against his skin was a pleasant sensation as the hunter pressed bruises into the crook of his jaw and suckled against the junction of his neck. Jonathan groaned, curling his fingers into the hunter's hair before he sighed in resignation.

"I hate to break up this moment, I really do but I do have something more dire to talk to you about." He grumbled. Geoffrey stilled against his neck, muffling a growl as he bit at the crook of tender flesh, drawing a stifled moan from the ekon. Jonathan raised a brow, hungry eyes staring down the length of his crooked nose in challenge. Just daring the hunter to keep going. Geoffrey was well aware who held the power in the situation. He may be on top, but Reid was entirely in control for the time being. Geoffrey was just enjoying the ride so to speak.

"What could be so important?"

"Ascalon."

Geoffrey snorted. "Only they think that highly of themselves. The only thing dangerous is their ego." Jonathan chuckled, sharing a smile of amusement. He drew his arms back, allowing Geoffrey room to sit upright and admire the flex of the ekon's shoulders as he stretched. "What do you want with that lot of parasites?"

"More like what they want with me." Jonathan answered curtly. "I've been formally invited to meet their chairman tomorrow evening. From what I've heard, I don't think I want to trust them."

"Don't." Geoffrey growled. "They're a garden of snakes prepared to strike at the first sign of weakness." He warned.

"Very poetic." Jonathan mused.

"I'm serious Jonathan." The firm press of the ekon's name between his lips always warranted obedience. It was a trait Geoffrey had noticed early on. Jonathan cocked his head and settled into a contented look at the utterance as if it were the balm to soothe any worry in his thoughts.

"I know, Geoffrey." He conceded. "I don't have anyone else I can trust. And I'm not fond of the idea of going in alone."

"Aye. I understand." Geoffrey hummed thoughtfully, smoothing his palms over the doctor's chest in a reassuring motion. "I'll think of something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan is trying to flirt the only way he thinks Geoffrey will understand. It fails, epically. But it was resolved in the end. It only took 100k+ words worth of pining for these idiots to realise they like each other.


	20. Measured Wits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can blame Svart-Jade for this chapter. Entirely. They've been battering me for this chapter for weeks.
> 
> READ CAPTIVATION CHAPTER 25 FIRST

Vincent will admit he was a tiny bit shaken when they left the Ascalon club. He knew he didn't have to worry about Reid's loyalty to Priwen, or his die hard need to fulfill his hippocratic oath and ensure the safety of everyone involved. He was a reliable man, first and foremost. But that didn't mean he could let his guard down around the other ekons. The wait had been boring, and he had mentally mapped out as much of the place as he could without getting up from his seat. He still had a good chunk recollected and once he got a paper and pencil in hand, he drew out a rough diagram of all the major points of interest.

His nerves hadn't spurred until the end, when Reid emerged to sweep him away. The ekon by his side, Lord Dieudonné Joseph Pierre Lothaire d'Orléans, (Vincent had to ask for the name twice because he couldn't believe that was _actually_ his name.) had apparently taken an interest in him enough to try and barter for his life. A trade of payment, or what some would call a polite form of slavery. From what Vincent gathered, the man was born in France and was an entrepreneur in _live cargo_ back when the trade was big in the early 1700's, and France made a prominent presence in the Caribbean.

Vincent has never felt so flattered and insulted all at once, while also obtaining a history lesson at the same time. The ekon seemed all too pleased to indulge him and further stroked his ego in front of his companions. All the while, in between asking the guard questions about his service during the war and his status at the moment with Dr. Reid. Vincent continued with their charade, playing the devoted servant to a man who saved his life until he can repay such a debt in full. Some would consider it romantic, Vincent had a different view but he always did enjoy a good drama and he had a taste for the theatrics.

McCullum rolled his eyes as Vincent gave a full oral report, standing before his desk. O'Connor stood by, listening in with keen attention to detail, while McCullum's hands worked busily to write down every drop of information Vincent had gathered. Even noting the sketch of the interior of the building which was added to the report.

"I'll add the name to the list. We'll hunt the bastard down." McCullum assured. "You did good, Bonner."

With that, he was dismissed for the night, slipping quietly out into the hallway to return to his room for a break. Vuka on the other hand, didn't appear to share the sentiment as he accosted the sniper the moment he walked into their quarters. Vincent barely had the door shut when Vuka had pinned him to the sturdy frame with a scrutinizing gaze. His hands cupped the sides of Vincent's face, palms warm against his skin, scraping against the rough stubble of his beard.

Vincent lifted his hands to grip the Serbian's wrists. It wasn't with the intent to pull away or shove the other man off. He just resigned himself to Vuka's critical eye as it dragged over him, tilting his head this way and that to ensure there were no wounds or fresh bite marks on his neck. No errant drops of blood spilled on his clothes, hiding secret injuries.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"I don't believe you." Vuka blanched. Vincent sighed and gently pushed the archer away, and began steadily undressing. It wouldn't be the first time, and Vincent doubted it would be the last that he would perform the task with Vuka watching him like a hawk. Every article of clothing was dropped to the floor as he shucked his jacket off and slipped his shirt up over his shoulders, mussing up his shaggy curly dark hair into a bigger mess. He combed his fingers through it after abandoning the shirt and kicked his boots off with a blatant disregard for the furniture they skidded into.

He stopped at the trousers and turned around, arms held out expectantly and exposed the deep grooves of scarring that ripped into his back from his old injuries. His almond skin tone was darkened only by the red splotches and patches of his condition that would come and go with increasing frequency. The white lines that crisscrossed the tops of his arms were a stark contrast to the rest of his skin tone.

"There."

"All of it." Vuka pressed.

"What'd you think I did? Perform for them nude?"

"They could have mesmerized you. You vould not even know. Need to be sure." He waved at Vincent to continue. 

The sniper groaned and shook his head. "You're so paranoid sometimes." It was teasing as he slipped open his belt and shimmied his pants down to his ankles, stepping out of it. All that remained was his socks by time he was done, arms crossed as he stared the Serbian down. "Happy?"

"No."

"What?! Why?"

"Your veird dick."

"My dick is not weird, excuse you."

"It is." Vuka stated flatly.

"Prove it! If you think yours is so special." He countered. 

Vuka cocked his head to the side and chuckled. "Fine. I vill prove you vrong little boy." He quickly removed his own clothes, making an enticing show of the whole thing that brought a rush of embarrassment burning across Vincent's face when he realized what he had actually challenged Vuka to do. To his mixed horror and excitement, the Serbian was standing before him in only his socks, with his shaft out on full display. Vuka stepped impossibly close so their hips were pressed together while they compared.

"See. Yours is veird."

"Bullshit." Vincent blanched, looking over Vuka's non-circumcized tip. It looked...strange to say the least. With the foreskin still intact. Vincent was hairier, he noticed between the two of them, with a thicker patch of pubic hair around the base, but he was also longer where Vuka's was thicker. He bit his lip in contemplation as he took the moment to inspect his companion closely. 

_'Fuck, he's attractive even like this._ ' He was already half flaccid as is, Vincent feared if they remained standing like this, he'll be hard before long. "Yours is the weirdest one here. It's all wrinkly looking and shit." Vincent waved dismissively. "How the fuck do you even wash like that?"

"Very carefully." Vuka elbowed him in the side. "You're one to talk."

"What do you mean? I bathe regularly, thank you very much!" Since the war, Vincent couldn't stand the feeling of being filthy. His clothes being dirty or wet would make him paranoid and uneasy. And with the added problem of his condition, he needed to keep his wounds clean which made him extra careful. He was aware that Vuka shared the same sentiment. Having survived the trenches, a lot of soldiers had seen enough horrors from the unsanitary conditions that they formed a nearly religious bond with water and soap. That still didn't mean he couldn't tease him about it and the floral scents they sometimes ended up with when they bought supplies from some of the local shops.

Both men hardly noticed the door opening at their backs, causing them both to turn at the brush of cooler air against their exposed skin, parting to peer at their uninvited guest. Recruit McKinley had started to speak when his inquiry ended with a startled squeak and then the door slammed shut. They heard McKinley shout back "I'm sorry!" And the rush of boots down the hall.

"The baby may have just become a man." Vuka snarked with a bark of laughter. Vincent shook his head in disbelief and bent down to reach his pants when the door opened a second time. Vincent had enough time to glimpse over his shoulder when the deeper voice of O'Connor interrupted.

"What are you two doing?" 

Vincent stood bolt upright, realizing the promiscuous situation this appeared to be. With Vuka standing behind him, naked as the day he was born and Vincent in a...vulnerable position. Ah, fuck this didn't look good at all.

"Ve are comparing dicks." Vuka blurted casually. "Vant to join? Vinnie's dick is lacking."

"Fuck you!" Vincent hissed. "He's just saying that cause I'm circumcised."

"The hood is missing."

"And I'm still bigger than you." Vincent growled.

"Will you two cut it out for a minute?" O'Connor's voice cracked between them like thunder, causing both men to quiet and turn their attention towards him. "Get dressed and get your asses downstairs."

"Yes sir." They said automatically. O'Connor sighed and shook his head as he closed the door. Vincent shot a dirty look at Vuka who only smiled like the devil in return while they scrambled for their clothes.


	21. Intermission: Pinterest Boards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since a few people have asked before about what our named Priwen boys look like. 
> 
> I figured it wouldn't hurt to post their pinterest boards so those of you that are curious can get a better idea of them. Their face claims that I use as references are also included. 
> 
> Below are:
> 
> Mary McKinley
> 
> Vukasin Babic
> 
> Beamard O'Connor
> 
> Vincent Bonner
> 
> (Vuka's faceclaim is having trouble showing, I may have to link them in later if they don't show up.)

Marianne "Mary" James Francis McKinley (aka Baby)

https://www.pinterest.com.au/jae_pratt/vampyr-ocs/mary-mckinley/

Vukasin Matija Babic

https://www.pinterest.co.uk/SvartJade/characters/vuka%C5%A1in-babi%C4%87/

Beamard O'Connor (with Francach)

https://www.pinterest.com.au/jae_pratt/vampyr-ocs/beamard-oconnor/

Vincent Francis Bonner

https://www.pinterest.com.au/jae_pratt/vampyr-ocs/vincent-bonner/


	22. Careful What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent and Vukasin investigate the disappearance of Emily for Charlotte Ashbury
> 
> This is after chapter 26 of Captivation and before Chapter 27.

“I smell blood.” Vukasin stated bluntly as they entered the building. Vincent couldn’t exactly confirm or deny since he smelled blood all the time. His sense of smell was muted to it these days. He surveyed the building, inspecting the neatly organized rooms and hallways, untouched by looters. So far. It wouldn’t be long before they sniff out the absence and target the home.

“Miss Ashbury said her friend Emily had been missing for a few days?” Vincent asked as they searched each room with a critical eye. His rifle was slung over his shoulder but his hand lingered near the pistol on his hip.

“Da.” Vuka grunted. “Said she took interest in vampires.”

“That’s never good.” Vincent sighed. The front door was locked forcing the pair to pick the lock and slip inside. The windows all appeared to be shut which was a good sign but that didn’t mean much if the girl was looking for a leech to come and bite her. She may have gladly invited the devil into her home.

There was a blood splatter on the stairway which Vuka found first. Vincent took point with his pistol drawn, leading them up the stairs one quiet step at a time. They swept the first of two rooms upstairs and moved into a second. There was more blood in the bedroom, still fresh where it pooled on the bed and then on the floor. There was a neatly written letter in a woman’s style, the paper was perfumed and reeked of romantic fantasies as she wrote lovely words to a Jean Marquis, imploring him to turn her so that they could be together forever.

“Fucking hell.” Vincent cursed. “This isn’t a fairytale.” He crumpled the letter up and tossed it haphazardly on the bed.

“Vinnie.” Vuka directed his attention towards the balcony. The door was unlocked and ajar about an inch. More blood stained the railing and splattered the cobblestones below.

“She let him into her bedroom and he ran off with a hot meal.” Vincent growled bitterly, his lips drawn back into a sneer as he shook his head. He holstered his pistol. “Come on then.” There was no shortcut around to that alley, but Vincent had no problem scaling over the railing and shimmying down the side panels. The perks of these fancy West End houses was how easy they were to climb with all their flashy exterior decor. It made for good foot and hand holds as he dropped down below. Vuka quickly followed behind him as they tracked the blood splatters out of the West End and towards the docks.

Down a set of steps and into a gravel yard near a loading dock, they found the culprit. The ekon was still stopped over the body of a young girl. She was roughly the same age, if not slightly younger than Miss Ashbury. Blood seeped from her throat, mouth and nose. Her eyes were shut and her skin was deathly pale. Her chest no longer moved with breath. There was a dark streak where the ekon had bit her and shared his blood to turn her. They were too late, maybe by mere minutes if the fresh blood on the leech's mouth was anything to go by.

Vincent aimed his pistol at the ekon's head, his gaze was cold and indifferent. "Bastard." 

"Now, now." Jean Marquis smiled, flashing his bloody fangs in a silent promise. "She asked for this." He stated simply. "She begged me to make her one of us. It was a shame though, poor girl didn't even have a chance. But you know how these things go. Compatibility is everything." The laugh was sickening, laced with carefree amusement as if he'd just told a clever joke.

"Now you two-" He smiled, taking a step closer to Vincent. "Oh, you smell enticing. So much blood pumping through your veins. I could offer you a luxurious spot by my side. Your friend with the pretty eyes can join us."

An arrow was loosed, striking the Ekon in the shoulder with a sickening thwack. Vuka was quick to draw again. "We don't negotiate with leeches." Vincent snarled, squeezing the trigger. The bullet grazed the ekon this time but it was quick to react, lunging out of the path. He reappeared behind Vincent but Vuka was upon him just as quickly, shooting another arrow into his back. The ekon hissed as Vincent whirled around, his left hand wielding his wooden stake, burying it into its shoulder. He narrowly missed its heart, cursing under his breath as he drew away to avoid the slash of claws.

He dodged the swipe and fired another round into its chest, the orichalcum bullets did their job of slowing the leech down but not by much. The ekon bared its fangs in a hissed out curse, lunging after Vincent. The pair of guards danced around the creature, switching in and out, ducking and weaving between slashes and bites, claws and fangs grazing them or narrowly avoiding vital areas. When the ekon managed to get a quick one on Vincent, capturing his arm and shoving him back against the brick wall that separated the gravel pits and the warehouses throughout the area. Vincent growled, struggling in a futile attempt for freedom. His other hand was pinned, forcing the pistol to fall from his fingers and land on the ground at the leech’s feet. Vukasin fired off an arrow into the creature’s back but the attempt was thwarted by a wall of blood. His arrow was absorbed before falling to join Vincent’s gun.

“I’ve had enough of your games. My offer still stands little one, your pitiful life is so short. So _fragile._ I could give you more. I could offer immortality.” The ekon purred low into his ear. “I will not offer it again. Choose or die.”

“Well, if I’m already dying I’d say the choice is pretty obvious ain’t it?” Vincent grunted, feeling the curve of the ekon’s claw along his neck, the way it outlined his jugular in a tantalizing way. He shivered, a cold dread curling into the pit of his stomach as the creature’s fangs grew nearer to his neck. Vincent ground his teeth in a muffled curse. “I’d rather die a man than become like you.”

The ekon’s gaze sharpened, it’s grip tightened on his throat in a sudden crushing force before it let go. A sudden motion that jarred Vincent against the wall, causing a sharp pain to blossom in the back of his skull. He groaned as he dropped to kneel, the body of the ekon falling away to slump against the gravel. Lifeless and limp now, the tip of a stake protruding through its chest with blood soaked hands reaching out for the sniper to take.

Vincent winced as he accepted Vuka’s assistance, dragging him up to his feet as they inspected the body. Vincent bent down to scoop up his gun before promptly putting two bullets into the ekon’s skull, one in each eye. Sure, it was over kill, but Vincent’s quit caring a long time ago. He didn’t have enough tolerance for assholes in general and he barely had enough for the living ones, let alone the undead ones. He checked his clip and reached around to rub at the swollen lump at the back of his skull, grimacing quietly to himself. 

Vuka frowned and cupped the back of his head, searching for any sign of blood or injury left behind. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” He dismissed his friend’s concerns with a flippant wave. His green eyes settled on the lifeless body of the ekon then searched the shadows for the abandoned corpse of Emily. “We should inform Miss Ashbury of her friend’s demise. She deserves a burial.”

Vuka nodded, answering Vincent with a tired grunt. They still needed to tend to the other corpse. Typically they burned them, as was protocol but Vincent didn’t have anything to light it with, he realized as he patted his pockets down and sighed. “Here.” Vuka drew his attention towards the matches he kept for his smokes.

“Thanks.” He grunted, accepting them as they prepared to dispose of the evidence. Vincent wanted to keep his attention off of what transpired and decided the best option was conversation. Typically Vuka was an unwilling victim of his open musings but often went along with it for the sake of corralling the topic to something less ridiculous. Vincent had a habit when he realized he was being ignored, to come up with more preposterous and outrageous conversation topics until he got a reaction of some kind out of his audience. More often than not, Vuka was the target of choice.

“You know, I’ve had something on my mind for a while now.” Vincent started as he nodded towards Vuka to grab the arms of the ekon so they could drag it away to the water’s edge. It made it easier to dump and disperse the remains after they’ve been burned. _If_ that is, anything survived the pyre. 

“Vhat?” Vuka grunted as they settled the body into an optimal position. Vincent took over from there, allowing the Serbian to take a moment to collect his arrows back up.

“O’Connor.” Vincent shifted the limbs, tucking them across the ekon’s chest. “Doesn’t he weird you out sometimes? Like don’t get me wrong, I love the guy. But sometimes….”

“Not really. Vhy?” Vuka watched as Vincent patted the body down and searched the pockets for any valuables or pieces of information that could connect it to any other leeches on their list.

“I catch him talking to someone when nobody else is there sometimes.”

“He has rat.” Vuka blanched.

“I thought that too but Francach was in his room and he was completely alone.” Vincent’s words drifted into an uncomfortable silence as he set the ekon on fire with a well placed bit of kindling. He waited for the tinder to catch the fancy fabric of the ekon on fire and after that, it was like paper to a candle. “I hear him saying the name Abigail.”

“Does he have daughter?” Vuka offered but Vincent shook his head as he stepped away from the ekon. The warmth of the fire helped thaw his cold fingers and ward off the chill of the night.

“From what I’ve heard, he has no family. He’s been on his own since he started working for Priwen when he was a kid.” Vincent folded his arms over his chest and hunkered down, staring at the flames in contemplation. “Think that’s why he’s so soft on all of us. We’re all the family he has. McCullum too.”

There was a long spread of silence before Vincent added. “Guess that’s just how it is. Priwen is a safe haven for those that have nothing left. Not exactly the best sort of family to have but it’s better than nothin.” He shrugged dismissively at his own words and shook his head. His dark curls bounces, shedding the light flakes of snow that started to fall and tickle at his cheeks. He winced as he combed his fingers through his hair and felt around the goose egg that was forming. “That bastard got me good dammit.”

“Too slow.” Vuka teased. “Not quick enough of shot.”

“What does that say about you?” Vincent countered, scowling over his shoulder at the Serbian as he rubbed his hands together to warm them.

“I have bow. Slower than gun. Your job is to lead fight.” Vuka smirked as he stooped his head to blow air on his numb fingers. “You vere too slow.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Vincent sighed. “Thank you though. I owe you one.”

“Buy me drink and ve are even.”

“Sounds like a deal.”


	23. Art By Poetic_Poltergeist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! This is super cute! Poetic_Poltergeist did an adorable piece of Francach in the same outfit as his Daddy O'Connor. 
> 
> Take a look at Priwen's finest (and cutest) little Vampire Hunter with a 3 Leech Kill Streak
> 
> Francach O'Connor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much!!! He is so freaking adorable! For all of yall who dont know who Poetic_Poltergeist is, I highly suggest you check her stuff out. 
> 
> Her fic Rapacious is beautifully written and her Dragon Jonathan fic Dissecting the Consequences is a poetically done masterpiece!
> 
> For Rapacious-> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673052/chapters/56830000
> 
> For her tumblr -> https://poetic-poltergeist.tumblr.com/post/619958979729260544/one-of-priwens-finest-leading-the-packs-oc
> 
> For Dissecting the Consequences -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617620
> 
> Seriously, go give her some love! She just did a really good art piece on tumblr of everyone's favorite grumpy Irishman in a kilt. Go give it some love!!!


	24. Foul Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan and Geoffrey investigate the source of the infection in the West End, starting with the Mullaney's.
> 
> This is after chapter 27 of Captivation but before chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! A million and one things came up stalling my ability to work on this (including having to replay the entire game just to get some information for this one scene) but here it is! Expect more updates for TPC and Captivation in the future. I'm bouncing between it, the Monster AU and McPupper.
> 
> If you haven't checked out my Monster AU series Monster Under The Bed, I highly recommend it. Geoffrey is the monster that stalks Jonathan but the good doctor is slowly learning that there is more to a monster than meets the eye.
> 
> If you haven't checked out McPupper, Geoffrey is an Irish (were)wolfhound and Priwen's best hunter, until he ends up wounded in his beastly form and taken into the care of the Good Doctor, Jonathan Reid. Jonathan has no idea how to properly care for a dog but better late than never as he navigates the complicated relationship with the wounded stray. (unaware that the stray in his possession is the missing Priwen Leader). It jumps between Jonathan and Geoffrey's perspectives each chapter to give the full scope of their thoughts on this whole ordeal. (Its mostly a comedy with some light angst, lots of fluff and plenty of Hurt/Comfort)

The snow had fallen in thick clumps that evening as Geoffrey and Jonathan approached the Mullaney’s home. The cold chill nipped at his cheeks and bit his nose leaving faint wisps of red curling across his features with the bitter reminiscent sting. Geoffrey adjusted the scarf around his throat and stiffened his collar with a quick tug of his gloved fingers. The night before was behind them, the little encounter with Venus was something Geoffrey hadn’t anticipated. He had heard every word the woman had said, the way she admitted so freely to the doctor about her own misdeeds in a silent declaration that she had won. He sympathized with Jonathan’s anger, understood the rush of destructive fury that burned through his veins.

As tempting as it was to get revenge on Venus for what she had done and what she still intended to do, Geoffrey wouldn’t stand by and let Jonathan ruin everything he had built up to that point. All their hard work, the trust they forged in the secretive hours between dusk and dawn. He knew Jonathan wouldn’t be able to live with himself afterwards, he was aware how gently self-destructive he could be. Had seen it first hand numerous times. He was a soft heart that didn’t deserve the fires that raged around him, trying to burn him alive and consume him. All the corruption that unsheathed itself in the darkest parts of London. All these shadowy games and plays that danced around him with daggers at his back when he wasn’t looking. 

The only saving grace was that Jonathan recognized the poisoned blade from the friendly one. He could tell which meant to stab him in the heart and which was held out to cut his binds and present him with freedom for once and for all. No longer would he be ensnared in that venomous web of carefully poised lies and deceit. Geoffrey had guaranteed that.

A few strings pulled of his own, some scrounged up records and one cordial visit from O’Connor to a certain friendly Inspector by the name of Kingsley over a cup of tea, and by the evening, Venus was well on her way to being behind bars where she rightfully belonged. A charge for attempted murder wasn’t an easy one and with the records of her many questionable purchases over the past few weeks. Jonathan’s friend now no longer has to fear for the sake of his tea and it’s safety.

They had talked immediately after the tense encounter, holed up in a nearby shit hole for a safe house. Jonathan settled down to calm his nerves while Geoffrey stoked the fire and let the ekon simmer over what he wished to say about the whole situation. He informed Geoffrey in full detail of what he discovered, his concerns for Clarence’s safety and his fears that he may lose a friendship should he bring this up to his friend. He was frightened of losing the only person from his old life that still mattered and cared for him.

It was a fear he could empathize with to an extent. Geoffrey was still riled up about the whole thing, a state that made him keep Jonathan close by his side and always within view even as they walked the streets side by side. Jonathan was chattering on about some new bit of gossip he discovered among the staff, the nurses chatter like canaries about everything under the sun and Jonathan’s unique craving for drama and rumours never ceased to amaze the hunter.

The chatter did quiet as they neared the home and dispatched two skals that were lurking outside with quick succession. Their presence near the entrance did not bode well for the occupants within. Jonathan peered up at the boarded up windows and the faint orange glow of light peeking through the slits between the barricades and curtains. They stepped over the blood splattered snow and slush that had been stirred up in the miniscule fight by the leeches and pushed onwards. The front door was locked, foregoing any attempts of entry through that way, they circled around to the back of the building through the narrow alley that slipped between the buildings. An open balcony window was a good enough ticket inside. Jonathan stepped in ahead of Geoffrey with his keen ekon senses flared and ready for another assault.

“I smell blood.” Jonathan informed him quietly, his voice near a whisper. “A lot of it.”

“That’s never a good sign.” Geoffrey sighed and held his sword at the ready. “No invitation needed, leech.” he nodded back towards the opening they had just come through. The room was dark as they stepped further inside. Jonathan’s hand grasped Geoffrey’s shoulder to stop him. His boots felt squishy where he stood, what he assumed was the elegant carpets were completely soaked through. “What is it?”

He trusted Jonathan’s eyes to see through the shadows that blanketed the room. “A woman’s body.” The ekon explained. “I’ll find a light so you can see for yourself.”

“Much appreciated.” Geoffrey grunted. The whisper of shadows were an unsettling sound that caused an instinctive flinch Geoffrey had to force back. He slowly sheathed his sword and tilted his head to protect his eyes from the worst of the lights as they illuminated the room. When they adjusted to the change, he was able to see clearly what Jonathan had. The ekon casually approached to stand by his side. By his estimate, Geoffrey was appalled that his initial guess had been correct as he stood in a massive congealing puddle of blood soaked into a persian rug.

The woman in question was positioned on a lounge seat, the book she had been reading had fallen to the floor at her side along with the cracked pair of reading glasses. Blood stained the pages and soaked into the front of her burgundy dress where deep slashes carved the fabric into ribbons. Her long grey hair had fallen from the once neat bun and shielded her pale face, hiding the distorted horror etched in her dying moments.

“This woman’s body has multiple lacerations. They’re deep, too. Whoever did this was driven by rage.” Jonathan explained as he carefully examined the corpse with a critical eye. The stench of decay had started to set in. It was heavy in the air and made him grimace, forced to breath through his mouth to avoid the pungent odor.

Nothing else in the room appeared touched other than the occasional broken mirror. Across the hall was the same. A bedroom prepared for the evening with a nightgown laid out for the owner to slip into. Down the hallway, Jonathan pointed out the trail of blood that soaked into the carpet and dried to a burnt brown hue. They pushed the bedroom door open to find the father of the household slouched in a chair. His arms were exposed where the sleeves had been ripped during a struggle. Deep dark bruises lingered as evidence of restraints.

Geoffrey shook his head to disperse the creeping bile up his throat. He pressed the back of his glove over his nostrils and cursed under his breath. “Bloody hell. He was tortured.”

Jonathan hummed in agreement. He approached the body with a clinical expression, crouching down to examine the marks on his hands where there was a struggle for freedom. His fingers gingerly cradled the skull as he tilted the head from side to side. “He had his tongue removed and his eyes gouged out. The state of clotting in the wounds is evidence that he was still alive when it happened.”

“Fecking hell.” Geoffrey had seen some pretty sickening things done at the hands of leeches but somehow their cruelty still managed to surprise him. Just like Jonathan’s restraint around so much spilled blood. He remained completely relaxed. He supposed he was in his element, the doctor in him dictating their course of action instead of the ekon side. That glimmer of fascination as he studied the wounds made the hunter wonder if he shared that same expression when he worked as an intern in some big fancy city hospital or when he was treating injuries on the frontlines. Was that curiosity always so formidable, that thirst, that drive to consume knowledge more than his own unquenched thirst for blood? How could a monster still retain so much of the man he once was? Jonathan’s entire presence before him now shattered everything Geoffrey had come to expect of leeches and their vile lot. He was the diamond, the rare glimmering stone in a mountain of coal.

Geoffrey squinted then looked around quickly, scanning the room with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“What is it?” Jonathan followed his direction and glanced around himself. The concern leaking from his voice as if the hunter could sense something he didn’t.

“Where the fuck are the eyes and tongue then?” Geoffrey grunted in annoyance, expecting to find them staring at him in a strange place.

Jonathan chuckled in genuine amusement. “Guess we’ll have to find out.” He strolled towards the entrance of the room and followed the blood stains that led them down the steps. On the landing between staircases was a young man’s body. He appeared to have been fleeing possibly, his limbs twisted and bent out of shape from a powerful fall. Given the height of the stairs, Geoffrey doubted it was accidental.

“Broken neck.” The hunter grunted.

“I believe this was the son.” Jonathan added.

“Was the entire family killed?” Geoffrey asked no one in particular. These sorts of barbaric acts never ceased to amaze and disgust him.

"By the looks of it, yes. Now the question remains, who is behind these grisly murders?" Jonathan inquired. Both men glanced towards the closed door in the hallway. Geoffrey took the lead as he drew his sword and directed Jonathan with a quiet nod. The ekon’s head bobbed in understanding as they stood beside the door. Geoffrey threw it open as the ekon stood at the ready for an attack but was met with silence. The room was big and open. A study with a crackling fireplace and a single solitary chair erected in the center. The figure of a woman sat slumped in the chair as they flanked her from opposite sides. Geoffrey’s sword was held at the ready as Jonathan took the initiative in his approach.

He rested a hand on her shoulder as Geoffrey tiptoed along the edges of the room until he could get a better view. He could make out the swollen blisters and puss filled growths along her arms that were common for the newest breed of skals that made London their hunting grounds. Her hair was thinned in long greasy wiry strands, disrupted by more of the putrid fluid filled growths that grew from her skull and along her face. A thin stained mask covered her mouth and nose and her clothes were soiled rags that once could have been considered lovely and expensive quality. Blood caked the fabric in grisly splatters. Geoffrey raised his sword at the read when Jonathan reached to lift the woman’s face up with a gentle caress of her chin searching for some type of wound or cause of death, the hunter supposed. But the body lurched with a maniacal laughter that pierced the silence of the room.

Jonathan took a startled and wary step back. 

“You thought I was dead, too, didn’t you?” She cheered with a distorted delight that was far too menacing. Its shrill crackle made the hairs on Geoffrey’s neck and arms stand on end. “No, I was just pretending!” She gestured at herself with a dramatic flair as if she were some famed beauty starlet of a theatre showing. “Doris told me I could’ve been a great actress!”

“You killed your family?” The doctor’s words were rife with disgust as he took a steadying step back as the woman approached the chair.

Her twisted amusement turned into fury as she screeched. “They mocked my talent!” The chair was thrown as if it were no more than a simple hindrance in her path, the wooden frame shattering as the pieces split and cracked.

Jonathan growled low in his throat, shoulders drawn back as his claws extended. He wasn’t prepared for the woman to rip away her mask and spew a toxic vomit concoction towards him. The vile stench made both men gag as it permeated the room with its noxious fumes.

Jonathan dodged the stream with his nose wrinkled in disgust. "That's just unsanitary." He grimaced as he pressed an arm over his face. 

Geoffrey supposed having a heightened sense of smell during times like these was more of a draw back than anything else. The hunter charged up behind the skal and swung his sword at her exposed back. She twisted around to defend against it, exposing the swollen blisters on her arm to the sharp edge. They burst with a foul pungent fluid that splattered like thick rotting cream. He flinched to avoid the spray but his clothes weren't so lucky as it soiled the fabric in watery greasy streaks.

Blood dripped from the deep lacerations mixing with the yellowed fluids that seeped from the broken sacks and open lesions on her arm. She swiped at him with her claws and an infuriated scream causing Geoffrey to quickly double back. His boots slid on the viscous fluid that covered the wood boards. Her scream was broken by the gut wrenching painful wretching as she started to vomit up all over the hunter. Geoffrey narrowly avoided the majority of the mess but his jacket was certainly ruined at this point. The cold chill of undead stomach acid never ceased to disgust and mortify him as it soaked the fabric and made it cling to his skin. He grimaced and backpedaled to get some distance. Neither he or the ekon could get close enough to this Skal without being hit and the terrain she surrounded herself with was volatile and dangerous as she cackled maniacally.

Geoffrey raised the crossbow on his arm and prepared a bolt to fire at her, causing the Skal to stumble back. Jonathan lunged forward with his claws prepared in a burst of shadows. He ripped into flesh but she recovered just as quickly and snatched the doctor's arm, utilizing his momentum to throw him into the bookcase behind herself.

Geoffrey fired another bolt into her shoulder, drawing her attention away from the fallen doctor. Geoffrey lured her away from her little corner as he loaded a third bolt. She lunged towards him with a burst of shadows, he managed to parry to avoid her claws and took two of her fingers off with the sharp edge of his blade. She screamed and started to wretch again. Geoffrey scrambled to get clear with a fumbled dive to the side. His shoulder cracked loudly in his ear as he rolled out the momentum and landed in a kneel. He ignored the pain as he held his sword at the ready as Jonathan pounced on the skal from behind. The broken frame of the chair now lodged through her chest cavity though the hunter cursed when he realized the doctor missed her heart.

He raised his crossbow with a wince to fire when Jonathan dug his claws into her shoulder as she scrambled to remove the impromptu stake. His right hand pressed the barrel of his shotgun against her malformed skull as he squeezed the trigger and let loose a phosphorus round into her cranium. The chemical reaction burned through her body, setting it ablaze as the bulbous fluid sacks boiled to burst. The ekon shielded himself with a wall of blood as all that remained was decaying matter that splattered the floor and walls.

Geoffrey was thankfully out of the splash zone this time and slumped back on the floor with a heavy sigh. His sword clattered at his feet as his free hand reached to cradle his shoulder. Jonathan appeared at his side with a swell of shadows that curled around his presence. The ekon scanned him with a critical eye as he searched for the source of the injury. He reached down with purpose, only pausing briefly for Geoffrey's silent nod of permission before he proceeded to feel out the deformed positioning of his joints.

"It's dislocated." Jonathan confirmed what Geoffrey already suspected.

"Aye. Ain't the first time it's happened." He sighed and shook his head. "Let's get the fuck out of here first before you start mother henning me. This place stinks worse than shite in summer time." The ekon sympathized with the commentary and helped Geoffrey to his feet. The hunter retrieved his sword and returned it to its scabbard while Jonathan did one last quick sweep of the room.

Geoffrey shuffled towards the door beside the desk when the doctor picked up a pile of papers with a quizzical expression. "What is it?"

"They're letters from the Doris Fletcher Acting School for Elza Mullaney." He explained, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"The leech said she had a thing for Doris. That's what set her off on her family." Geoffrey stated bluntly.

"I know but, something feels odd about it. Last I heard the school was shut down during the epidemic but these letters are recent. I didn't hear any word of it opening back up again." Jonathan explained, sharing the same puzzling piece that drew Geoffrey's confusion towards the documents. He took them from the doctor to inspect with intense scrutiny. After a moment, he folded them up to tuck into his pocket.

"I'll have the lads look into it later. Can't think straight. This place is giving me a headache." The stench was overwhelming and making his stomach twist up into tight knots with bitter vile edging up his throat with every breath. Jonathan must have noticed the discolored flush of his face and the heat burning his cheeks as he nodded and guided them out of the building. It was nice when they finally reached the fresh air of the narrow street, the sudden shift threw him through a dizzying loop and had the hunter hunched over a nearby trash can as he wretched up the contents of his stomach with a grumbled curse.

Jonathan patted his back with a gentle hand to console him and offered a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with. "My home is nearby. We can clean up there and find a fresh change of clothes. And I can take a look at your shoulder."

"Inviting me into your lair, leech?" The words were teasing as he trailed beside the doctor. He cocked a curious brow as they navigated the slippery cobblestones and avoided the worst of the bitter cold wind as it whipped at their faces.

Jonathan chuckled. "It's not much of a lair if my mother lives there, is it? It loses the nefarious quality."

"I don't know. Is she a leech?" Geoffrey countered earning a horrified look from the doctor as he stood in shock. 

"Are you insinuating-" His surprise faded when he noticed the playful curl of Geoffrey's lips as he chuckled.

"Nah, yer just too easy to mock, Reid. I know you wouldn't hurt her." And it was true. Geoffrey had seen Jonathan through the worst of times, he's seen him at the bottom of the barrel, scraping by, barely alive and holding on by a thread. All the while, he maintained his self control and withheld from the blood of innocents. (Rats not included.)

The doctor gave him a sideways glance before he offered a more genuine smile and shook his head. The silence that fell between them was a comfortable one as they traveled towards Reid manor and the promise of a hot bath. One of which Geoffrey was greatly looking forward to.


	25. The Underdogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is after chapter 28 of Captivation.
> 
> Geoffrey finds Jonathan in a tight spot and lends a hand.

The chains rattled loudly in the empty warehouse. With only a narrow opening in the large doors allowing the warm orange glow of fire light to bleed through the cracks across the gravel terrain. The snow was disrupted by the approaching footsteps and the older tracks of passing boots in the earth.

“....agh....ugh!” The sounds were pained, accompanied by the hard thwack of something heavy and thick colliding with flesh. The chains quaked as the hunter peered through the crack of the entrance. On the far side of the warehouse was a huddle of what he presumed to be Wet Boot Boys by their scruffy appearances. One had an old taped up cricket bat that he smashed into the thinly clothed side of none other than the good leech doctor.

Reid hung by a chain, his wrists bound and looped over a hook that extended from the walkway above. It was carefully rigged up to keep him on his toes. In only a thin pair of trousers and the blood stained white button up shirt, torn up in places where there had been a scrap. His skin looked even paler than before as his head hung. His lip was bleeding and there was a cut over his brow. Geoffrey could only see the dark outline of blood on his skin, but didn’t doubt that the wounds had healed, sluggishly at that. 

Two gang members stood before the doctor while another dug through his pockets looking for the medical supplies he kept on his person. 

“Oi! Look at this piece he had on ‘em.”

“What’s a fancy doctor doin with a gun like that?” The one with the bat spread a wicked smile. He was already missing a couple of teeth, his face twisted up where someone had given him a good beating or three in the past.

“Think he has it for the likes of us?” The third one chuckled, a manic sound high in his throat. Reid didn’t look like he had an interest in playing their games. He kept his head down, avoiding their gazes or maybe trying to keep his urges under control.

“Hey! We’re talkin to ya!” The one with the bat shouted, his face contorted into a sudden flash of anger. He raised the bat and brought it down hard, connecting across his chest. Reid’s body swung by the chains as he lost his precarious balance, the brunt of the hit sounded like it cracked a few bones and exhausted any breath that was still in his lungs.

“Ugh!” Reid ground his teeth through the pain, his lips made a thin line as he tried to keep his fangs hidden. Geoffrey could see the struggle as he tried to regain his composure and further endure the assault.

“Think we could sell this on the black market? This is some good shite.” The one by Reid’s belongings blurted, holding up the homemade medication the doctor often gave out for free to the needy masses curled in their dilapidated homes and struggling through the worst this city had to offer.

“That’s not for you.” It was the first thing Reid had said in a while judging by the startled looks on the three men’s faces. His words were firm, giving no sign of weakness from the injuries inflicted on him thus far.

Toothless pressed the tip of the bat against his chest and pushed him, causing Reid to sway where he hung, his toes gliding over the cold blood stained floor back and forth as he tried to gain a firm ground. “Yeah? Whatcha gonna do bout it? Huh? Mr. Tough Guy. Come on then. Stop us.”

The man stepped forward, closing the distance as he shouted. “COME ON THEN!” He raised his bat in line with Reid’s head, but the strike never landed. Geoffrey had slipped through the doorway and entered the warehouse, stalking up behind the gangsters while they were preoccupied. He popped his elbow into the side of the man’s face while simultaneously wrenching the bat from his grasp. The man fell into his companions who stood wide eyed and speechless.

Geoffrey lifted the bat with one hand, his icy eyes gazing along the length as he inspected the trio. “Bloody bastard!” One of the men shouted, drawing a knife on the hunter as he dropped his unconscious companion. “Yer gonna regret that.”

“Whatcha gonna do about it? Huh? Cowards beating up a defenseless man.” Geoffrey spat out, echoing their own words as he leveled the bat on the gangster with the knife. The man screamed as he charged at the hunter but Geoffrey just sidestepped the attack, sweeping the bat down over his back with a sickening crack. The man dropped to the ground with a scream of pain, losing the knife in the rush. The third man by the crates with Reid’s belongings looked panicked. He drew the doctor’s gun to fire. The shot missed Geoffrey but clipped Reid in the side as the doctor screamed, writhing in the chains as blood soaked into his shirt. Geoffrey brought the bat down on the man’s arm, breaking bone with the strike as the gun hit the floor and skittered. The first asshole was on his feet by now, but not for long.

He picked up the knife his companion dropped and tried to lunge for the hunter. Geoffrey narrowly avoided the strike, shuffling back out of reach as the man swiped and stabbed wildly. The hunter waited for the opening as he brought the blunt end of the bat down on the man’s stomach in a forward jab, knocking the air out of his lungs as he buckled. Geoffrey swung a second time, clobbering him in the back then drawing his knee up into his face, effectively breaking more teeth in his already fairly empty skull.

The punks had enough sense to collect themselves in a mad scramble and fled out the other door, dragging and pulling each other out of the way in their escape.

Geoffrey threw the bat down on the floor as he approached the doctor. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood as it dripped from the wound in his stomach. The bullet had already been rejected by his body, lying in a blood clot on the floor by his feet. “Let’s get you out of here, Reid.” Geoffrey spoke softly.

The doctor lifted his head slowly, his eyes were bright even in the dim lighting of the warehouse. His fangs were impossibly long and sharp, digging into the tender flesh of his bottom lip as he fought to restrain his instincts. The tips of his claws had dug into the palms of his hands, making the rope that bound his wrists slick with blood and further cutting into the circulation of his hands. Geoffrey wrapped his arms around Reid’s legs to pull him off the hook that held him still.

The doctor stumbled when his feet settled flat on the floor, his hands clutching to Geoffrey’s shoulders for a moment’s support. From here, Geoffrey could feel a few bones that were no longer in the right place. One was poking out of the doctor’s side where it tore through skin and left crimson streaks in sluggish globs. “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” Jonathan hissed through his teeth and limped towards his belongings. The hunter watched him tear through the rope like it were paper and leaving the shredded strands in his wake.

“I didn’t ask what you _will be_ , Reid.” Geoffrey reminded. The doctor straightened up, one hand resting on his side as he inspected the prominent bone sticking out against his shirt. He inhaled deeply, probing silently around until he found the right place before effectively shoving it back in. Geoffrey flinched in sympathetic pain.

“I have-well _had_ two broken ribs, a dislocated thumb, a pierced lung which is healed already. A bullet wound on the mend, no thanks to you. And multiple instances of internal bleeding.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt to expose the massive bruising that was slowly fading away now before the hunter’s eyes. Geoffrey felt a sudden swell of anger boiling up inside, wishing he had done a bit more damage to the bastards in return. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding in agitation.

“Why didn’t you fight them off?”

“Why should I?” Reid asked as if it were the most ridiculous idea to ever leave the hunter’s mouth. “If I had, they would be dead and you would be hunting me down right this moment instead of rescuing me.”

“If you had, you would have done the world a service. Scum like that don’t deserve it.” Geoffrey growled, stalking past the doctor. His boots sounded loud in his ears, heels clicking against the ground with the renewed silence.

“I’m a doctor, Geoffrey. I heal people. I don’t kill them and as far as I know, neither does Priwen. Unless your moral code is as fickle and trustworthy as the English weather.” Reid proceeded to get dressed, using a crate to sit on while he slipped his shoes back on his feet.

“So what? You just let them beat you up til they get bored?” It didn't make sense to the hunter. Not unless Reid had developed a sudden taste for outlandish punishment. If he had, then they had more to be concerned about in the long run. Or maybe not.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Jonathan sighed. “And with a cricket bat no less.” He scoffed, a mildly amused look in his eyes as he stared down the thug’s weapon of choice now abandoned on the ground.

“Did your fancy private school not treat you so well?” Geoffrey approached, taking up a spot against a pillar as he leaned, arms folded across his chest.

“The private school wasn’t the problem. One particular boy in my class had a cruel dislike of Clarence. They tried to rough him up by the cricket field.” Jonathan buttoned up the front of his shirt, deciding the whole article was a lost cause by the look on his face. He reached for his coat and started meticulously returning all of his supplies to their designated pockets. Only pausing to uncork a familiar vial of rat blood and downed it in two quick swallows. “I refused to let my best friend get hurt. What lotta good that did. I ended up taking a bat to the face.” He gestured at his broken nose. “And visiting the Headmaster’s office.”

“Wait! _That’s_ how you broke your nose? I thought that happened during the war.”

“I broke it a second time during the war, but the first was in school.” Jonathan smiled, a truly devilish smile. “He walked away far worse off, if I do say so myself.”

“Color me impressed. You continue to surprise me Jonathan Emmet Reid. Here I thought you were just another stuck up toff.” Geoffrey teased, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“You wound me, Geoffrey.” The shock was overplayed as the doctor stood up, his belongings now properly in place. Geoffrey straightened up to follow as he trailed Reid through the warehouse. He didn’t withhold the snort that erupted when the good doctor bent over to retrieve the bat. “I’m keeping this.”

“Finders keepers, eh?” The hunter asked.

“Consider it my service fee.” He gave it a playful swing, adjusting his stance accordingly. His practice bat was met with a pained wince as he hissed. “Maybe I’ll give it a try later.”

“Could try talking Swansea into starting a team at Pembroke.” Geoffrey scoffed as they approached the doors, pausing long enough to survey their surroundings first before they departed the warehouse. The night was still cold, leaving white puffs that trailed from the hunter’s lips. Reid stood beside him, tucking the bat inside his coat into one of the many magical never ending pockets that it seemed to carry. “I swear, is there anything you _don’t_ carry in there? That coat must be fucking heavy.”

“Sometimes. I don’t notice anymore. Not until the seams start splitting in places at least. It’s nothing a bit of patchwork won’t fix.” Jonathan assured. Geoffrey simply shook his head.


	26. Art by Poetic_Poltergeist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art of Jonathan and Geoffrey in the beginning of Captivation! Thank you so much Poetic_poltergeist for the wonderful art! Jonny looks so worried and the attention to detail is terrific! It's amazing! 
> 
> If yall haven't checked her works out on AO3, you should really give her fic Rapacious a read! Along with her take on Dragon Jonathan in her ficlet Dissecting the Consequences. They're both so good!


End file.
